


The Chance You Did Take

by Kris22



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Chance You Didn't Take - Ronja
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kris22/pseuds/Kris22
Summary: When Peeta proceeds with his marriage to Lace, Katniss must explore a life without him.This story is a fanfic of a Hunger Games fanfic.   For context you should first read "The Chance You Didn't Take" by Ronja available on A03.https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761195/chapters/3765881





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ronja for the inspiration, Broadwaybaby59 for her valuable suggestions and Shannon17 for her encouragement.

I scrabble frantically at the metal surface of the cornucopia to haul myself to safety. Below me, Peeta is at the tail, desperate to escape the wolf mutt’s snapping jaws and razor-sharp claws. One of them rises on its hindlegs, and sinks its teeth into Peeta’s ankle. Peeta plunges his knife into the mutt’s eyes again and again but its impervious to Peeta’s efforts to stop it. He turns to me, pure terror etched on his face. I stretch out a hand to grab his, but our fingers merely grabble before he is pulled down into the murderous pack and disappears from sight. I hear his screams of agony. I load my bow and shoot arrow after arrow but when one wolf mutt falls, another takes its place. I howl his name. Peeta! Peeta!

“Peeta!” I wake screaming his name. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream, I say to calm myself. I’m in my bedroom. It’s not the arena and Peeta is safe. I try to slow my breathing but I realise I’m on the verge of a panic attack and I quickly rise from my bed to fix my gaze through the window at the street light below while I take deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Eventually, my breathing returns to normal and my heart resumes its usual pace. I could return to bed now, but nothing is less appealing. Instead I go to my usual seat in the chair by the window. 

Across the street, I see that my fellow sufferer has had another nightmare too. It’s remarkable how we seem to synchronise them. He takes to the swing chair on his porch, while I prefer the chair by my bedroom window. I wonder if he sees me here. I fancy that he does. That he reaches out in silent sympathy, which I return in kind. Only someone who has been in the Games can know. 

In the early days, she would sit with him but now Peeta sits alone. I experienced the same loneliness when I returned from the Games. Others tried to comfort, but there was nothing they could do. There was no point in everyone being awake. Peeta’s memories must be returning at an accelerated rate for he’s almost as often in his seat as I am. What do you dream about, Peeta? Do you still dream about losing me? Or do other fears dominate your dreams? Do you now dream about losing Lace? 

Peeta rises from his seat and waves in my direction before turning to go indoors. Ah, so he does know I’m here. It’s the only communication we have. The star-crossed lovers, the great romance that entranced a nation, has been reduced to a casual gesture between virtual strangers, united only by night-time horrors. I stay seated for a little while longer, locked in a prison of sadness that remains unabated weeks after the wedding. 

From the vantage of my bedroom, I had taken to watching the comings and goings of the Mellark residence across the road. I wanted to familiarise myself with their activities to best avoid having anything to do with them. I was still to return to work as school vacation didn’t end until the following fortnight. I spent my days either in the woods or holed up inside my house. Neither was ideal, as it gave me plenty of time to be alone with my thoughts when what I needed most was distraction, and lots of it. Lace, I learned, left for work at the same time as me. The prospect of walking with her, even just part of the way, was unthinkable. I’d have to leave for the school half an hour earlier then. 

On Lace’s first day back at work, barely an hour later, Peeta came heading towards my house carrying gardening tools. He was going to tend the primrose bushes. It had to stop.

“You can’t do this anymore, Peeta,” I told him. “I can prune my own bushes.”

Peeta stood up from where he had been kneeling on the ground, secateurs in hand. He hadn’t looked well. The strain of the past few weeks showed. He was thinner, paler, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Under other circumstances, I would have felt sympathy for him. But I couldn’t afford any soft emotions for Peeta Mellark. Not when my own survival depended on it. 

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. “Neighbours help other neighbours. I like doing this for you. I like doing it for her.”

The allusion to Prim made me angry. I didn’t like him using her to get around me. 

“Peeta, I’m neither old, nor infirm. I don’t need your help to garden. You have a wife now. If you want to prune bushes, prune the bushes in the house you share with her. Or prune Haymitch’s. They can certainly use it.”

Peeta swallowed hard as if he were fighting tears. “I’d like us to stay friends, if we can. I don’t blame you for being upset, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go back on my word and hurt Lace. Please, can’t you see it was an impossible situation and there’s no going back. We need to be able to live together.”

I crossed my arms defensively across my body. I didn’t want to lose resolve in the face of Peeta’s distress. What I said this day would set the direction for my future relationship with the Mellarks. 

“I want us to live peaceably together too. But as neighbours only. I’ll always be your friend, someone you can count on if you ever need help. But for day to day interaction, I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want you to do gardening for me. I don’t want any more Victors dinners or anything like that. And if Lace asks why, tell her anything you like. Tell her I have leprosy. Or that we had a fight. Or tell her the truth, that I’m in love with you and it hurts too much to be in your company. I don’t care.” 

And with that I’d ran into the house before I started to cry. Since then, the only contact I have with him is a tentative wave if we should see each other in the street – which is rare anyway, since I always check first to see if either Peeta or Lace are about before I venture outside. It’s hardly the most comfortable situation, but it’s better than putting on a brave face and pretending. 

Haymitch is stuck between us. From my chair I’ve watched him trek over to the Mellarks, presumably for dinner, going by the time of day when he visits. Traitor! I know the charge is unfair. He can’t be expected to shun the Mellarks just because I do. My isolation was my own choice, but it hurts nonetheless. Lace has taken my place, not just with Peeta but with Haymitch too. These dinners, whether by design or chance, are on the same nights we held the Victors dinners. I think I hate all three of them. I don’t know how I would have handled living in the Village with Peeta married and still unaware of my feelings. But at least I had the option of continuing on as before, if not for Haymitch’s interference. 

Haymitch has tried to reach out to me, but my need to lash out has discouraged him. Haymitch and I were never natural companions anyway. We’re too much alike. Peeta was the glue that held the three of us together. I see Haymitch in passing, as he heads out to council meetings or tends to his geese. We say hello, ask about each other, but that’s about it. The deep sadness and remorse in Haymitch’s eyes as he looks at me is bad enough. But there’s pity too. And that I can’t stand.

With a plaintive meow, Buttercup leaps onto my lap and pushes his furry face against mine. My one true boyfriend. The only male that hasn’t left me, one way or another. I scratch him behind his ear, and then hug him to me as I get out of the chair and back into bed. I settle into a fitful sleep, but there’s no more dreams of Peeta. A good omen. I hope.

___________________________________________________________________________

I’m the first to arrive for the weekly teachers’ meeting. My new habit of leaving home half an hour earlier has its advantages. In the quiet before the school day is underway, I can get homework corrected, lessons planned and reports done in half the time. Work has become my refuge, the means to forget my troubles and give my life purpose. In fact, anything that gets me out of the Village is good. I thought avoidance would lessen the strain, but I begin to think it’s created a greater one. Every step I take outside my door is first carefully considered according to who may be about. It’s been the end of spontaneity and my home feels like a prison. 

I make myself a cup of tea with hot water from the urn, take a seat, and then wait for the other teachers to trickle in. As well as Mr and Mrs Matson, Max, Moira, Milo and me, five other teachers have joined the staff. The school is growing fast and classrooms are crowded. I expect that will be on the agenda today. District 12 has grown exponentially since the medicine factory became operational. Lace and her contemporaries, who formed the first wave of migrants to come to 12, represent only a small fraction of those who have arrived since. 

When everyone is seated around the table, Mr Matson takes his position at the head of it. He clears his throat loudly to get everyone’s attention and gestures to the papers in front of him.

“We have a lot to get through, so we’d best get straight into it. First of all, we’d like to welcome Marius Heavensbee to the school. Marius comes to us from District 2. He’s an engineer by profession, but is also qualified to teach maths and science. He’ll be teaching the older students levels 7 to 10.”

Correction; six other teachers have joined the staff. A round of applause welcomes Marius to the team. A tall, dark haired man nods in acknowledgment. “Thanks everyone. I look forward to working here and getting to know you all.” As his eyes travel the room, they stop abruptly when they reach me. There’s a shock of recognition followed by open admiration. Wonderful. Another Mockingjay groupie. 

Mr Matson refers to his notes. “Now the first item on the agenda is a request from Moira for assistance with the junior school to help with reading and to provide other support. It’s only two half days per week, but if we could get . . .”

“I can do it.” I say. I turn to Moira. “That’s if it fits with my schedule. I can do Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, if that suits you.” Moira gives her assent. Anything to stay busy and keep my mind off things. I like working with the younger children anyway. 

“That’s settled then,” continues Mr Matson. “We also need people to help with a fundraiser. Unfortunately, our requests for government assistance to build new classrooms haven’t met with success. Apparently, schools aren’t high priority until other re-development of infrastructure has been taken care of. That means any funds will have to be raised by the community. We need some volunteers.”

My hand shoots up. I have no idea what it will entail but if it keeps me busy and away from the Village, I’m up for it. The other volunteers include Max, Moira and the new teacher, Marius. Mr Matson suggests the newly formed committee meet as soon as possible. Max agrees to be in charge. 

The rest of the agenda concerns dwindling stationery supplies and a roster for yard duty. Mr Matson closes the meeting and everyone starts to move towards the door to their respective classrooms. Before I leave, I take my empty cup to the sink to rinse it out and place it on the draining board. When I turn around, Marius is still here. 

He holds out his hand. “We weren’t properly introduced. You’re –“ 

“Katniss. Just Katniss,” I say, as we shake hands. Experience has taught me to get the Mockingjay thing out of the way as soon as possible. 

“Never “just Katniss”, I’m sure. It’s only one of the most famous names in Panem.”

“Ancient history,” I say dismissively. “And what about you? Any relation to Plutarch Heavensbee?”

Marius snorts in derision. “Second cousin not-far-enough-removed. It’s a long story. I’d like to tell you about it sometime. What about when we finish here? Do you have a favourite watering hole?”

He moves fast, I’ll say that much for him. My inclination is to make my excuses. But what else do I have to do this evening? Just another opportunity to sit in my chair and watch Haymitch pick his way through goose shit on his way to the Mellarks.

“I don’t have a particular favourite. But I’ve heard O’Donnell’s is a pleasant place for a drink.” 

“Perfect. I’ll meet you here after work, “just Katniss.” He winks at me as he turns to leave. I’m tempted to call it off on the spot. But I suppose if I can survive two Games and a war, I can survive an hour or two with Marius Heavensbee. He reminds me of someone. I can’t quite put my finger on who. It will probably come to me later.

____________________________________________________________________

O’Donnell’s is very stylish inside. Private booths upholstered in leather. Subdued lighting. A piano tinkling in the background. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d overhead Max recommending it to Milo when he wasn’t sure where to take a date. But knowing Max, it could as easily have been one of those pole dancing places I’ve heard about, although why anyone would want to dance with a pole is beyond me. 

To my surprise, Marius has a car. Cars are rarities in District 12. Only the very wealthy can afford one and most of us walk where we want to go. It’s a bit battered, but it’s still a car. This Marius becomes more intriguing the longer I know him. Why is a Heavensbee in District 12? And what bad blood lies between Marius and Plutarch? 

We slip into one of the booths and Marius orders a whisky on ice for himself and a gin and tonic for me. I’ve never had one before but it sounds sophisticated. When I take my first sip, I pretend to like it. Marius sits directly opposite and I take my first real look at him. Late twenties, maybe. Dark brown hair, long on top but short at the sides. Dark blue eyes. Even features. Faint lines around his mouth which suggests he laughs a lot. Quite good looking, but not what you’d call handsome. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” 

“What?”

“You’re examining me. Do I pass muster?”

“I was not – “ I begin. But at Marius’s quirked eyebrow, I know denial is pointless. “You’re not bad, I suppose.” 

“Not bad? I see I have some ground to make up. First of all, let me get you a drink you’ll like. I take it you’ll prefer something less bitter?” 

Five minutes later there’s some frothy concoction in front of me. I take a tentative sip. Mm, much better.

“Sweet, but lethal. Like you.” 

“Ha ha.” I say. “What would you know about my sweetness or lethalness?” Lethalness? Is that a word?

“I’ve followed your career closely. In fact, I’ve had personal experience,” says Marius, putting his empty glass aside. 

“Is that so?” 

“Uh huh. I was an engineer working at the Capitol military base in 2. My dear cousin Plutarch got me the job just before he buggered off to 13 to make war on the Capitol. Next thing I know, the rebels have blown the mountain up and we’re trapped like rats. The only way out was by train. That is, if you had escaped being crushed by falling rocks, or suffocated by the dust. Or burnt to death by all the fires that broke out. Fortunately, I wasn’t far from the train tunnel. We got as many of the wounded into the trains as possible, but we knew it was likely we would be killed from rebel gunfire when we got to the station anyway. That’s when I saw you. Running down the steps in your Mockingjay get-up to talk this poor guy out of shooting you. It was a gutsy move. Dumb, but gutsy. You saved a lot of lives, that day. Including mine.” 

“We called it the Nut. Because it was hard to crack. And what do you mean it was dumb? You can’t congratulate me for saving lives and then say it was a dumb move. Unless you’re saying it was dumb to save you.” I say, indignantly.

“That remains to be seen,” he says, laughing. “And you did get yourself shot. But your greatest act of heroism was to kill Coin. The revolution would have been for nothing if we had ended up with something as bad as what we had.”

I take another sip of my drink. “That’s not what-the powers-that-be think. I was labelled a nutcase and sent to 12 when it was little more than a graveyard. It’s better than being executed, I suppose, but no one’s rushed to pin a medal on me.” 

“Too many people in high places have too much to lose if the real story got out. And I include that cockroach, Plutarch, in that,” he says, with a bitter twist to his mouth.

I wonder what Marius knows that I don’t. I’m just about to ask him when he raises an arm to attract the attention of a passing waiter for another drink and the moment is lost. 

“Why are you in 12 teaching maths when you could be doing engineering stuff? I ask. “There’s lots of building going on.”

“Because I don’t like it. I became an engineer under family pressure, although even that was considered too lowly for a Heavensbee. They’d rather a bloodsucking lawyer or a gamesmaker in the family. Apparently killing adolescents is a worthier occupation than teaching them. Now I do what I want. I have a position in 2 at a university waiting for me when its ready to re-open. The job in 12 is to fill in time. I also need the money. The family fortunes took a dive because of the war. Except for cousin Plutarch, of course. Cockroaches always come out on top.” 

I don’t often ponder the events that led to me to assassinate Coin. What would be the point? In every direction, there’s road blocks in my way. The past can’t be undone anyway. But Plutarch isn’t entirely evil, although self-interest seems to be behind everything he does. Without him, there would have been no revolution, and I wouldn’t be here in an upscale bar in 12 enjoying a drink with Marius Heavensbee. 

“So, where’s a good place to eat around here?” asks Marius, suddenly changing the topic. 

“There’s a restaurant across the road that isn’t too bad,” I reply. It’s the only restaurant I know. It’s where Peeta, Haymitch and I went for Peeta’s alternative to a bachelor party. 

“Come on, then.” Marius is already out of the booth, the drink he ordered almost untouched. I get the impression that he doesn’t like to stay too long in one place. I hadn’t intended on more than a drink or two, but I’m enjoying his company more than I anticipated. So, when he puts his hand at my back to usher me forward, I let him. 

It’s hard to believe that it’s only about six months ago that I was here at this restaurant with Peeta and Haymitch. I still had hope that Peeta would remember his love for me and the wedding would be cancelled. It was foolish really; the time for that was well past. 

I distract myself from any morbid thoughts by concentrating on the menu. I’ve become an expert at the art of distraction. Dr Aurelius would be proud of how I’m handling it. If I ever bothered to consult him, that is. 

“The pork chops are quite good. I had that last time.” I say. “But I think I’ll try the salmon this time.”

Marius orders the same as well as a bottle of wine. The wine comes first and Marius pours me a glass.

“May I ask you something that’s personal?” Before I can answer, Marius continues. “What happened with you and Peeta Mellark? I thought it was the great romance of the century. That’s how it was promoted anyway.”

I’m used to people’s curiosity about Peeta and me. If they don’t ask outright like Marius, they convey it with puzzled looks or roundabout comments. I prefer Marius’s way, so I can tell them to mind their own business. But for some reason, I’m not inclined to do that with him. Perhaps it’s the effect of the “sweet, but lethal” drink I had in the bar, or the ready way that Marius shared himself with me, or that he has some understanding of the forces that brought me here. Or even that he’s virtually a stranger, who’ll likely be moving on in some foreseeable time in the future. But whatever it is, I find myself confiding in him, albeit in an abridged sort of way.

“Snow happened. You’d know that Peeta was tortured in the Capitol with trackerjack venom?” Marius nods. “It made him fear and hate me and it meddled with his memories. He’s recovered a lot since, but he was no longer in love with me. He met another girl, fell in love with her and married her. That’s it in a nutshell.” 

I hope I spoke in a matter-of-fact, I-don’t-care sort of way, but I see by the expression of sympathy in Marius’s eyes that I failed.

“Wow. That’s got to hurt. And he still lives in the Village with you?” 

I don’t trust myself to do anything more than nod. 

Marius shakes his head. “That’s fucked. Snow just keeps on giving, doesn’t he? Well, they must have really screwed with his brain if he prefers another girl over you.”

I can think of a lot of reasons why Peeta might prefer Lace over me, but it’s so gratifying to have someone say differently. I warm to Marius even more. In fact, over dinner we chat like we’ve known each other for years. I can even discuss the Games with him. He has an insider’s perspective without ever having competed in one. He told me how gamesmakers are trained in psychology to best manipulate tribute’s behaviours for maximum entertainment. When I told him of my nightmares, he had no trouble understanding why I have them. 

When the staff start to clean up around us, we get the hint and leave. It’s obvious Marius isn’t ready to call it a night just yet because he looks with interest at the pubs as we walk by. He stops at one. “They’re having a karaoke night. Let’s go in,” says Marius, pulling me by the hand. As soon as we enter, I know this isn’t my kind of place. Smoky, noisy, full of raucous people obviously the worst for drink. Haymitch would love it. Worst of all, is the terrible singing coming from a fox-faced woman clutching a microphone in one hand and a drink in the other. When the song is finished, the room bursts into loud applause. 

“But she was awful.” I say to Marius, above the din.

“Doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s sort of the point. It’s about having fun. See those video screens on the wall? The lyrics are displayed on them and you sing along. Why don’t you have a go?”

“What? No!” I say, horrified at the thought. 

A waitress approaches and Marius orders drinks. It seems we’re here until we finish them at least. We listen to a few more people sing. A man, and a couple performing a duet. They are equally bad. The microphone is then passed around from table to table. Anyone who refuses to sing at least a verse of two is booed. Suddenly, the microphone is thrust into my hands. I glare at Marius, who just smirks in return. The music starts and I turn towards the video screen. I’ll sing a couple of verses to get this over with and then I’ll murder him. 

I start tentatively, unsure how the lyrics fit the music but once I’ve got the general rhythm I gain in confidence and my voice begins to soar.

“You lost that lovin’ feelin  
Whoa, that lovin’ feelin’  
You lost that lovin’ feelin’  
Now it’s gone, gone, gone, whoa-oh-whoa”

I intended to finish here, but the song, it’s about Peeta and me. Emotion takes over. I forget about where I am, and who’s listening and I immerse myself in the words. 

“If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah  
We had a love, a love, a love you don’t find everyday  
So don’t, don’t, don’t let it slip away. “

Bring back that lovin' feelin'  
'Cause it's gone, gone, gone, whoa-oh-whoa” 

The music ends, and I once again become aware of my surroundings. And then the room erupts in enthusiastic applause and whistles. There’s even a few standing ovations. I look down at Marius, who has a broad grin on his face. “You were amazing! Do you need a manager?”

I roll my eyes and try not to look too pleased. But it’s a long time since I’ve had so much fun. After we’re done with the karaoke, Marius insists on driving me home. I don’t object too much. It’s very late for a work night and I’m tired. It’s getting cold at nights too. Summer is drawing to a close and I haven’t seen Peeta on the swing seat for a few weeks now. 

As we drive through the gates, we’re greeted by loud barking as Shep makes a game of chasing the car. That dog will chase anything. From my chair, I’ve watched Haymitch becoming increasingly irate with Shep for harassing his geese. It’s been one of my few pleasures in life. 

“Where did that thing come from? Shouldn’t it be tied up or something?” asks Marius.

“It should be, but he barks when he’s tied up. Actually, he barks when he’s not. There’s no gates or fences around these properties. It’s like the Capitol knew 12 wouldn’t produce enough victors to warrant it.” 

Marius pulls up outside my house. I notice that lights have been turned on in the Mellark residence. Shep’s barking probably woke them up. I go to open the car door, but Marius stops me. 

“A gentleman always sees a lady to the door,” he says. I wait while he walks around the car but as he does so, Shep takes the opportunity to greet the new visitor, jumping up and sticking his nose in Marius’s groin. Marius pushes him off. 

“Bloody annoying creatures. Give me a cat any day,” he tells me, as he helps me out of the car.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening,” I say to Marius when we get to my front door.

“You’re very welcome. It’s the least I can do for the woman who saved my life.” He reaches over to stroke my cheek. “See you at work tomorrow, just Katniss.” 

“Finnick! That’s who he reminds me of,” I later tell Buttercup. Buttercup ignores me, too focused on eating his dinner which was served several hours later than he’s used to. I wonder if this night qualifies as a date. If so, it was the first I’ve ever had.


	2. Chapter 2

Ten days later, I arrive at the school at my usual time – half an hour earlier than I need to. I start work on planning the day’s lessons when Max enters the room. He has a sheaf of papers in his hand which he distributes evenly around the table. We’re to have the second meeting of the fundraising committee this morning. There was a brief meeting a week ago. Our homework was to come up with ideas for a fundraiser, ideally one that would raise a lot of money. 

“Tea?” I ask, as I go to make a cup for myself.

“Yes, I will have one. Thanks,” says Max as he rifles through his bag for a pen.

I hand him his cup, and then get back to my work. But in my peripheral vision, I see Max perched on the edge of the table just beside me. He evidently wants to talk.

I look up at him and Max begins. “Katniss, I know this is none of my business, but you’re a friend who’s gone through some really tough times and I don’t want to see you hurt. It’s this Marius fellow. I’ve seen how much attention he pays you. Before you get too involved, I think you should know he has a reputation as a ladies’ man.” 

I knew Marius was a “ladies’ man” within five minutes of talking to him. You don’t attend umpteen Capitol parties without learning how to recognise one. I wonder why this would concern Max though. 

“That’s sweet of you to worry, but there’s no need. I’m not about to jump from the frying pan into the fire,” I assure him. If he’s mystified by my words, he has no time to react because just then Moira arrives. Marius appears five minutes later and the meeting can begin.

Max gets the ball rolling by asking what ideas we’ve come up with. Moira suggests a fete, Marius a raffle, and my bright idea is a cookie drive. All of them are dismissed by Max as not ambitious enough. 

“We need something that will bring in a lot of revenue. Something that could potentially involve the wider community.”

“Such as?” asks Marius.

“A concert. We have every grade level perform something. Parents will pay money to watch their kids on stage. We could even hire the new community theatre to maximise audience numbers,” says Max with enthusiasm. 

Moira frowns. “But do you think we could get enough people to justify hiring a theatre? I mean, it’s only watching children at the end of the day. Who other than parents and relatives will want to see it?”

“That’s where a marquee act comes in. Someone with a big name to draw in the crowds. They don’t need to do much – just a song or two. District 12 isn’t known for attracting anyone famous before. I think I can guarantee every ticket will be sold.”

Marius turns his head in my direction expectantly. I mouth an empathic “No.” There’s no way I’m going to be the “marquee act.”

Max continues eagerly. “And I have just the performer. Calpurnia Lush! And she’s already agreed to it. She doesn’t want any payment either. Calpurnia has been out of the business for a while now, with the war and other things. But she’s ready to make a comeback. She thinks a community event like ours will be ideal. It’s win-win.” 

“Who’s Calpurnia Lush?” asks Moira before I get a chance to. 

“Only the most famous name in musical theatre in the Capitol. She’s won two Antonius awards and has three titanium selling albums. We couldn’t ask for anyone better.” Max looks at each of us in turn obviously expecting us to be very impressed. 

Moira and I nod our approval. It’s not like either of us have come up with anything better. Marius appears dubious though.

“It’s a great idea, Max. It’s just that Calpurnia Lush has a reputation for being . . . unreliable, let’s say. I mean she’s a great performer, or was in her heyday. I’ve seen her in a few shows, and she was terrific but that was at least ten years ago.” 

Max answers with barely concealed irritation. “Calpurnia assured me that any problems she’s had in the past are no longer a factor. She’s excited about performing for us, and I think everyone deserves a chance to make up for past mistakes, don’t you?”

Max is probably alluding to the fact that Marius was on the wrong side of the war, even though he was never a fan of Snow and his regime. It occurs to me that Max doesn’t seem to like Marius very much, even though Marius is charming to everyone. It’s also unusual to see Max so hostile, openly anyway. He doesn’t have a high opinion of Peeta but at least he’s polite to his face. 

But Marius reacts mildly. “Of course. I just think you should know the risk. But, as you say, it’s no longer a factor.”

Max picks up the sheet of paper that’s in front of him. “So, if we’re going to do this, and I think we should, we’ll need to get organised. We have to work out acts for the kids to perform, hire the theatre, print tickets and flyers and generally get the word out. I’ve written up a plan of action.” He indicates the papers that he distributed earlier. “So, let’s divvy it up according to our abilities.”

Later, Marius and I discuss the concert over a coffee for him and a hot chocolate for me, at a new café that’s opened recently. 

“It’s tough that you got all the promotional work.” I tell him.

“It’s OK. It’s not like I’ll be much use with the artistic side of things,” says Marius, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Max was a bit narky with you. He’s not usually like that.”

Marius shrugs. “He’s just jealous.”

“What, of you?” I ask teasingly. 

“No, not me personally. Me with you. He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. You’re imagining things.” Peeta had said the same thing, but Max and I argue more often than not.

“Have it your way then. Just remind me to hit you over the head with it when the time comes.”

“What time – “ I begin. “Oh shit! Peeta’s here with Lace. No, don’t look!” I whisper frantically as Marius goes to turn his head. 

“Calm down. It’s no big deal. I can see their reflection anyway in the mirror on the wall behind you. I take it Lace is the one with brown hair and wearing a red coat?” 

“Er, yes, I guess.” I had become so used to describing Lace’s hair colour as mahogany I’d forgotten that mahogany is brown.

“I think I’ve seen her around. She works in the dressmaking shop on the main street, doesn’t she?” asks Marius.

“Not just works. Owns. She came to 12 to start the business.” My insecurities about Lace are awakened afresh. I recall that Peeta admired Lace for her initiative in starting up a business on her own far from her home. 

“She must have had money then. It takes a fair bit of it to start up a business like that. By the time you lease premises, outfit a shop, buy equipment and merchandise, you’ve already invested a great deal before you even start to show a profit,” says Marius.

“Peeta said Lace’s family were factory workers. In 8 that’s somewhere between field workers and merchant on the social scale.” As I say it, I realise it doesn’t make a lot of sense. In 12, merchant Peeta ate stale bread. They must have paid their factory workers a good wage then, far better than they would have in 12. 

“Odd.” Marius’s attention is on the mirror again. “Peeta’s watching us when he thinks his wife’s not looking. I think he’s trying to work out the relationship. He doesn’t look happy.”

I shrug miserably. It’s no consolation that Peeta has lingering feelings for me. I knew that when he chose to go ahead with the wedding. In some ways it makes it worse. It would have been easier if had no romantic interest in me whatsoever. I think to be loved not quite enough, is worse than not being loved at all. But it’s the least of my worries at the moment. I can feel the glances and speculation of the other diners. Whether you were Capitol or District, the star-crossed lovers saturated news stories. It’s not surprising that people still wonder about us.

In one of his abrupt moves, Marius pushes himself away from the table. 

“Have you finished your hot chocolate?” I nod. “Let’s go, then.”

To my surprise, Marius takes me by the hand. “Don’t look at them,” he says. “They’re not here.” His body blocks them from my view. As we pay at the counter, his arm slides around my shoulders and pulls me against him. A kiss is planted against my temple. We leave the café hand in hand, walking away with our backs to them. 

“It will get better, you know,” says Marius, a few minutes later. 

“I know.” All things pass. Eventually. It’s not until we get back to the school and we part ways that I realise we’re still holding hands.

____________________________________________________________________

The next couple of months are mostly uneventful. It was decided to have the concert close to the end of the school year when the weather is warmer. There’s a lot of preparations to do in the meantime, anyway. Moira and I are in charge of overseeing the children’s performances, with particular concentration on the junior school. Older students, who were more resistant to the idea, have been given the option of putting together their own act or to work behind the scenes such as painting backdrops. It’s worked out better. Many of the girls have formed themselves into dance troupes and some of the boys into musical groups. With Mrs Matson’s assistance, one class has written a short play that they’ll perform. All in all, I think it should be quite a show. It’s certainly diverse. Max keeps in regular contact with Calpurnia Lush who has chosen to sing two songs she’s renowned for. The rest of us are yet to meet her.

There was a ruckus in the Village about four weeks ago. I was returning from a hunt, taking care that as I walked through the gates that neither Peeta or Lace were in sight. They were, but no one was paying any attention to me. I quickly ducked into my front porch and peeked around the corner to watch and listen in. Haymitch held up a dead goose; it’s neck swung loosely and its feathers were stained with blood. Behind Lace cowered Shep, head down, tail between his legs and looking as guilty as hell. Peeta appeared to be trying to mediate between the two, but without much success. Both parties claimed that their respective animals had the right to the run of the Village. There was a lot of yelling back and forth until the word “gun” was mentioned, at which Lace burst into tears. Peeta went to console Lace and sent some reprimanding words Haymitch’s way. Haymitch appeared to back down somewhat and attempted an apology but quickly gave up and stormed off to his house, slamming the door behind him. Since then the dinners seem to have been abandoned. From my chair, I haven’t seen Haymitch once make the trek over to the Mellark residence, although Peeta visits him. A dog run was erected behind the Mellark residence a week later, but it doesn’t seem to have improved matters. 

At least Haymitch and I seem to be getting along better. He’s renewed his efforts to get on my good side, and now that the dinners have ceased, I feel more amenable to any overtures. My anger over Haymitch’s interference has abated somewhat too. I suppose the only difference between it being a good or a bad thing was the outcome. Perhaps I’d be thanking him instead if the wedding had been called off. However, our relationship has some way to go before it’s back to the way it was. The Village is a tense place to live in, no matter who you are. 

My strategy to immerse myself in work has been a good one. I heal a little more each day. Or I tell myself so, anyway. Staying away from Peeta as much as possible has helped. On week days I’m busy at the school. On weekends I hunt or I’m out with Marius, usually dinner at a restaurant or sometimes karaoke. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend I’ve felt closer to, including Gale. He’s come along at just the right time. One day, he’ll be moving on to that university job but instead of dread at the thought, I feel freed. My greatest fear is losing loved ones, and the fact that there’s a built-in failsafe that prevents it from going further than I’m comfortable with, allows me to simply live in the moment and enjoy it. 

This night I’ve asked Marius over for dinner. I’m not sure how the invitation came about. All I said was that the chef didn’t know how to cook game, and the next thing I know I’ve been challenged to do a better job of it. I’ve spent the morning hunting anything that is unlucky enough to come within striking range of my arrows but it’s slim pickings at this time of the year. The snow is thick on the ground and the weather bitterly cold. I hope Marius likes squirrel. 

I decide to make squirrel pie. If I wasn’t avoiding Peeta, it would have been handy to run across the road and ask him to whip up some pastry for me. And a cake for dessert while he was at it. He seems to have plenty of time on his hands. Lace works every weekday, sometimes staying away overnight or longer as I don’t always see her return home. But Peeta appears to work only occasionally, and there’s no sign of any bakery being opened. Perhaps money is short. Marius said it takes a lot of money to start a business and I can’t imagine that Peeta had much change from that expensive wedding. I had even heard rumours that Peeta had paid travel and accommodation costs for all of Lace’s relatives. 

Marius arrives right on time. I pull him through the door and quickly shut it to prevent the icy wind from entering. The weather has taken a turn for the worse and it’s snowing heavily. While I hang up Marius’s coat, he warms himself by the fire.

“Brrr. One thing you can say about 2. It never gets this cold. Visibility was really bad driving here. I had to stop a couple of times,” says Marius. 

“Maybe we should have postponed the dinner,” I say doubtfully. “It’s not wise to be out in weather like this if you can help it.”

“And miss your cooking? It should clear by the time I’m ready to go home, shouldn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Marius evidently doesn’t have much experience with a cold weather climate. “Hope so.”

The squirrel pie is declared a success. I have a feeling Marius is being kind though. The squirrel is cooked well enough, but the pastry isn’t as flaky or as light as I’d hoped. I made chocolate pudding for dessert because it’s easy and even I can’t mess it up.

After, we retire to the couch in front of the fire for coffee for him, tea for me. Before I sit down, I check the weather conditions from the living room window. The wind has intensified and snow is falling heavily. I can’t even see Marius’s car, parked at the front of my house, visibility is so bad. 

I shake my head. “I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere tonight. The weather has got much worse. It’s not safe to travel. A good thing I have a guest room and a spare toothbrush.” 

Marius doesn’t look in the least concerned. He’s stretched out, feet up, warming his toes by the fire. 

“I can think of worse places to be stranded,” he replies. Then he turns to me with mock horror. “But what about your reputation? A single woman with a single man, staying overnight. What will the neighbours say?” 

I sit beside him on the couch. “The neighbour next door will likely be so drunk he won’t even notice. And as for the neighbours across the road . . . I don’t know what they’ll say. I don’t speak to them much.” At all, really. Would Peeta even care? I wonder. I hope that he would, that he’d feel even a fraction of the despair I suffered when I learned that Lace stayed overnight. But then I’m ashamed of myself for thinking that. A good friend would want him to be happy in his marriage, not to be yearning over a lost love. I realise, with a flash of insight, that I’ve been hoping for the marriage to fail. My earlier observations of their habits, which was intended to help me avoid them, has become more like spying. Peeta wouldn’t be doing this if our positions were reversed. He’d want me to be happy, even if it came at a cost to himself. Not for the first time, I compare myself to Peeta and find myself wanting. 

“That’s got to be awkward. Living in such close proximity. And with someone you were once close to,” Marius replies.

I try to be casual about it. “I’ve got used to it. And it’s better than pretending. I’m thinking of moving out of the Village, actually.” I hadn’t been. It had just in that minute occurred to me as the solution to all our problems.

“Where would you move to?”

“That’s the bit I haven’t thought about yet. Something smaller, perhaps, not too far from the school and the woods.” I begin to imagine my new home. I see myself and Buttercup comfortably installed in a small house with a yard, back and front. Something more like our house in Seam, only modern and well built. I’ve never been truly at ease in this big house, so I won’t miss it. But leaving the Village and turning my back on my last connection with Peeta will be a terrible wrench. I’ll miss Haymitch too, dreadful though he is. What binds the three of us is immutable but it’s fraying around the edges at an alarming rate, and I can’t see a way of bringing it back. One day, the only thing that still connects us will be the Games. To my shame, my lip trembles and my eyes fill with tears. I turn my head aside in the hope that Marius won’t see it, but when his arms go around me and pull me against him, I don’t resist. 

And it’s so nice to feel a man’s strong arms around me again. To just relax into them and feel the weight dissipate and melt away. To luxuriate in the warmth and comfort. I burrow my face in his chest as if I could lose myself in it and forget everything other than this moment. Yet, somewhere, in the back of my mind, something niggles at me that this might not be the wisest thing to do. I don’t want to complicate a relationship that’s come to mean a lot to me. But when I pull away slightly, Marius’s arms tighten around me and I stop listening to that little voice. He’s a friend, right? Friends comfort each other. Stop overthinking, I tell myself. Live in the moment. 

I don’t know who starts kissing who. I think it might be me. And he’s so good at it. Practiced is a word that comes to mind. Max called him a ladies’ man. A man who likes women, enjoys their company but doesn’t necessarily form deep emotional connections with them. A ladies’ man is just what I need. I don’t want a deep emotional connection. I had that and it brought me pain. So, when the kisses grow heated, I respond with equal fervour. Marius leaves my lips to kiss the side of my neck, and then lower to the tops of my breasts. Somehow, the buttons of my shirt have come undone. How did that happen? Who cares? I lose myself in the sensations, but then grow impatient at the slowness of it. A hunger has been ignited, not felt this way since Peeta and I kissed on the beach during the Quell. Then, it was a melding of mind and body. Now, it’s all about the body, but no less intense for it. I climb onto Marius’s lap and feel his arousal hard between my thighs. 

Abruptly, Marius’s hands are on my shoulders, pushing me away to peer into my face. “Are you sure you want this? Because I can’t make any promises. And I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

I look him straight in the eye. “You’re not taking advantage. I do want this, and I want it to be with you.” 

In the short time I’ve known Marius, I’ve grown to trust him implicitly. Perhaps it’s the debt he seems to feel he owes me that makes me sense that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. His honesty about what he can offer just makes me want him more. There’ll be no repercussions from this, either for him or me. It will be between friends, nothing more. 

Marius leans forward to kiss me. “Let’s take it to the bedroom then. A couch isn’t the most comfortable place for what I have in mind for you.” 

As we climb the stairs to my bedroom, I finally accept that Peeta won’t come back to me, or that I’ll go back to him. Whether his marriage to Lace succeeds or not has nothing to do with me. He’s chosen his destiny. It’s time for me to choose mine. I’ll leave this house and buy another that suits me better. A house that isn’t surrounded by reminders of the past. A house that I can be happy in, that I can fill with love. Even if it’s only Buttercup and me. 

Marius is an expert lover. Even someone with no experience can tell. And because he’s seen so many women’s bodies, I feel no shyness about revealing my own. It’s not as voluptuous as I’d like, and although the burn scars continue to fade, they are still noticeable. But Marius doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he spends extra time kissing them as if he could make them better. He finishes with the burns on my legs while I lie back to enjoy the attention. Suddenly I’m shocked to feel his tongue between my nether lips, lathering along the full length and then gently stroking that small sensitive nub that I don’t know the name for. It feels so good, but I didn’t know people did such things. My first thought is to push his head away but if Marius, so practiced in the art, does it, it must be OK. I relax and let Marius get on with what he’s good at. Soon after, I lose control in great shuddering waves. This is the first time I’ve orgasmed in front of a man, and the old Katniss, the Katniss who had a problem with nakedness, would probably have felt embarrassed. The new version of me feels liberated. Marius certainly seems pleased. 

He rises to lay the full length of his body against mine. I know enough to know what happens next. I open my legs to him and his hardness presses against my opening. There’s some discomfort and I prepare myself for inevitable pain, but Marius thrusts shallowly allowing me to grow used to this strange, foreign feeling. When the barrier is broken, it’s not too bad at all. The thrusts deepen and become more rapid and I raise my legs higher over his hips to make greater contact with that little nub. Marius’s lower body tenses and I open my eyes to see his face contorted in the throes of orgasm. I’m inordinately proud that I can have this effect on a man. The loss of Peeta’s attraction had put doubt in my mind that anyone else would see me this way again. But now, the world seems open to me and full of possibilities. I kiss Marius in gratitude. He returns the kiss, and then rolls off me. I’m glad he does, because he was getting quite heavy. Not to mention, sweaty.

He lies on his back and holds out his arms to me. I curl into him and rest my head on his chest. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?” he asks curiously. 

The question surprises me. I didn’t think he had noticed. “I don’t know,” I say eventually. “I felt a bit stupid, I guess. After all that star-crossed lover’s business.”

“Everyone has a first time. There’s no need to feel stupid about that. But I thought you and Peeta had gone through some kind of marriage ceremony and you became pregnant.”

“It was all made up. We hoped that if enough people were outraged, the Games would be cancelled. After, it was explained away by saying I had a miscarriage. Peeta and I have never been together that way.”

Marius picks up a strand of my long hair and starts playing with it. “That’s tough. And then to see another woman have what you never got the opportunity to.”

I nod my head against his chest. Tears prick at my eyes. How does he always manage to get to the heart of it? 

A kiss is pressed to the top of my head and his arms tighten around me. “His loss, my gain. I’m the one who has the privilege of being Katniss Everdeen’s first lover. I know I won’t be the last. When I’m gone, expect Max to move in. I swear he’d kill me if he could get away with it.” 

I laugh, but against his body it comes out more like a snort. Whoever my next lover is, if indeed there is a next one, it won’t be Max. He’s a friend and I have the feeling that if I ever crossed that line and it didn’t work out, I will have lost him. I don’t want another Gale. 

I doze for a little while and when I wake, Marius is snoring softly. I quietly get out of bed and pad to the hall closet where the medical chest is kept. Secreted away are contraceptives I hoped one day to use when Peeta came to his senses and realised it was me he wanted. It seems stupid in light of how things turned out. But now I congratulate my foresight in thinking of such matters. There’s two kinds. One to take soon after intercourse, and another to take daily for twenty-four-hour protection. I remove a tablet from the former and put the rest back in the chest. Then I take the second kind to keep in the bathroom to start taking the next day. To be ready for next time. 

___________________________________________________________________________

I wake to bright sunshine. Marius is curled around my back, his arm heavy across my waist. Carefully, I remove the arm. Maruis grunts and rolls onto his back. I need to pee. Urgently.

After I’ve relieved myself, I peer in the mirror to detect any change in my face. Nothing. I don’t know what I expect to see, but it’s strange that the change I feel on the inside hasn’t transferred to my outer appearance. I feel grownup. I supported my family when I was eleven years old. I’ve been in two Games and a war. I’ve been on trial for assassinating a president. But it’s taken losing my virginity to feel like a grown woman, finally initiated into the mysteries of life. It’s weird, but good. 

When I leave the bathroom, Marius is waiting to use it. He gives me a brief kiss in passing. Rather than return to bed, I go to my closet and pull out some clothes. While I wouldn’t mind a repeat of last night, I don’t want it now. There’s a soreness between my legs that will need a day or two to subside. Besides, Marius and I are friends, not lovers in every sense of the word, so there’s no point in acting like we are. 

I’m pulling on my boots when Marius returns. He’s very comfortable walking around naked, I observe. And why shouldn’t he? He’s very well put together. Slim, but muscled. Long limbed and well proportioned. How many women have admired him like this, besides me? Lots, I suspect. And the thought doesn’t bother me in the least. 

Marius collects his clothes from where he left them draped over my chair. As he does, he appears to notice the view over the village from the angle the chair is placed. He gives me a quizzical look, more amused than anything, but says nothing. To cover my embarrassment, I go to the window, ostensibly to check the weather conditions. As soon as possible, I resolve to put that chair back to its original position. 

The day is clear and bright. A winter wonderland, the Capitol would call it. All it needs is a snowman and children playing on sleds somewhere. But under that glistening blanket of snow, Marius’s car is barely visible. We’ll have to dig it out and hope that the council has started clearing the roadways. 

“Let’s have breakfast,” I say. “Then we’ll tackle the car.” 

Marius offers to make it. From my refrigerator he pulls out eggs and cheese and turns them into a delicious cheese omelette. I get the impression that morning-after-cooking is a specialty with him. Not that I’m complaining as I tuck in. I’m very happy to get the full Marius treatment. 

After, we assemble a collection of shovels and scrapers by Marius’s car. There’s a lot of work to do, as we’ll also have to clear a path to the road. Towards the town, council workers can be seen clearing the road in the distance. By the time we’re finished, they should be too. 

We start by scraping the snow off the top of the car, taking care not to scratch the paint. And then we work to clear the snow around the wheels. It’s quite strenuous and I’m soon sweating under my clothes, despite the cold. Marius and I had chatted companionably earlier, but now we just concentrate on the work. The only the sound is two shovels rhythmically scooping and piling snow. Then, without warning, a third shovel enters the mix. I raise my head and see Peeta. He’s quietly shovelling snow, his broad shoulders making quick work of it. 

“Um, hi,” I say awkwardly. “Er, this is Marius. Marius, Peeta.” 

The two men remove their gloves to shake hands. It’s strange seeing them side by side. Peeta, medium height, stocky and with blond hair. Marius, tall, slender and with dark hair. It could be Peeta and Gale all over again. 

“Pleased to meet you,” says Marius. “Thanks for lending a hand. I was afraid we might be shovelling snow all day.”

“Don’t mention it,” replies Peeta. “What are neighbours for?” He shoots me a pointed look as he says this. I ignore it and go back to shovelling snow. 

Marius and Peeta keep up a steady stream of conversation as they work. Both of them are easy communicators and I’m left with nothing else to do but put in the occasional two syllable response. Eventually, all the snow is cleared. Marius finishes by scraping the windscreen and checking that the exhaust pipe is clear of snow. He thanks Peeta, and then envelops me in hug before driving off. Peeta and I watch as his car leaves the Village. The council workers had finished clearing the road about half an hour earlier. 

“He seems nice,” Peeta says. 

“He is,” I reply. 

Silence.

Peeta clears his throat. “Katniss, do you think – “ 

“No,” I interrupt before he can go further. “Thanks for your help, Peeta. I need to go inside now.” And with that I dash indoors before he can say anything more. Damn! Why did he have to come over? Every time I think I’ve made progress, I find I’ve made none at all. And I missed what he was going to say. It was probably “do you think we can be friends?” or “do you think we can stop ignoring each other?” The only thing I want him to say is “do you think we can be as we were, before the hijacking, and Lace, and every sorry thing that has happened since?” But it will never be that, and I don’t know how it ever possibly could. I need to get out of the Village and away from him. I’ll start looking for a house tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

“When do we meet Calpurnia Lush?” I ask. Despite the fact that the full-dress rehearsal is only a couple of days away, the only one of us who has seen her is Max.

“She’ll be at the rehearsal, don’t you worry,” says Max confidently. “She’s super excited, particularly since the event has turned out much larger than anticipated. Great work, Marius, on the promotional work, by the way.”

Max sounds almost friendly. I suppose it only took selling out the theatre and organising a lavish after-party for the District’s community leaders and business owners to do it. In fact, the after-party stands to raise more money than the concert.

Marius smiles modestly. “I’ve picked up a lot of tips from cousin Plutarch over the years. Even cockroaches have their uses.”

No one knows quite what to say in response to that. Max coughs and then reads from the list in front of him. 

“Now, let’s see. Costumes are organised. Band is organised. Sets will be dismantled and transported to the theatre on the day of rehearsal. We’ll march the kids down to the theatre for their rehearsal after lunch and have them back before the final bell. I think that’s about it. Any questions?”

None are forthcoming so we gather our belongings and make our way to the door. Just as I’m about to leave, Marius pulls me back. I can tell from the way he hesitates that I’m about to get news I may not like. “I received word yesterday from the university in 2. They want me to start in six weeks.”

“Oh,” I say, turning away. “We’ll be saying goodbye soon then.” I knew this day would come. Counted on it, in fact. It’s why I got involved with him in the first place because I thought it would prevent me from getting in too deep. But now that it’s here, I realise how much I’m going to miss him. He’s been more than a friend. A saviour in some ways. How will I get by without him?

Marius hugs me from behind. “We’ve got six weeks until we do. Let’s make the most of it because I’m going to miss you like crazy. But you’ll be alright. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

I’m not so sure of that, but I nod my head and have a smile ready when I turn around. “We should get back to work. But I’ll see you tonight?”

“You bet,” and with a brief kiss on the lips he’s out the door. And that’s another man to leave me. Or soon to. I must be cursed. 

I spend the rest of the day dully going through the motions. As I trudge home, I think about what Marius means to me. It was Marius who helped me out of my depression. Who made me feel desirable again. Who put fun back into my life when I thought I’d never have it again. I’m not in love with him. I know that. But I do love him. And I’m going to miss him. But I’m also compelled to acknowledge that this wasn’t a relationship that could last. Isn’t it what attracted me to it? That there was a failsafe built in? One day, what we have would cease to be enough for either of us. At least this way, we’ll end it on a high note with nothing but good memories. Can’t have it both ways, Everdeen. 

I reach my home, a two-bedroomed cottage about twenty minutes’ walk from the school. Pots of yellow primroses are at the front door. Inside, I collapse onto my favourite chair; the same chair from my bedroom in the Village that I did my spying from. I’ve come a long way since then, I realise, and the knowledge lifts my spirits. It’s not quite a year since Peeta and Lace married and I have a new home, a lover, and I’ve found new purpose in life. I’ve begun to see that life can be good again, and while Marius has played a big part in that, I should give myself credit for being open to it. I didn’t give way to despair, but fought on. And while I still yearn for Peeta, it’s now an occasional pang rather than a constant ache. I hope he’s happy with Lace. And she with him. This can’t have been all for nothing. 

Buttercup leaps onto my lap to remind me that it’s his dinnertime. I scratch him behind his ear and hear him purr. “Soon there’ll be just the two of us again, puss,” I tell him. And there’s nothing wrong with that.  
______________________________________________________________________

It turns out it’s quite an operation getting the entire school down to the community theatre. Moira and I, with the help of two parent volunteers, have the job of containing the junior school. They are skittish with excitement at the prospect of what, is to them, an afternoon off school. A little girl named Ivy has taken a shine to me and sticks to my side like a leech. She’s very cute with her curly dark hair and bright blue eyes. I’ve never wanted children, but there are times like this when I feel myself softening towards the idea. Maybe one day, if I find the right man. 

Marius is behind us talking to some of the senior students. He’s very popular with them; especially the girls. Max should already be at the hall organising the sets and to welcome Calpurnia Lush when she arrives. We’re all agog to finally meet her. She’s become something of a fantasy figure; this famous icon of the stage and recording studio. Max insisted that our promotional material have her name emblazoned in large letters immediately after the event title. 

District 12 Comprehensive School  


Presents  


An Evening in Concert  


featuring Calpurnia Lush  


It makes the rest of the program look like the support act. But I suppose if it puts bums on seats and raises the money we need, that’s all that matters. 

When we arrive, we get the children sorted in order of appearance. It was decided to have the little ones perform first as they’re more likely to be tired before the end of the night. I’m to lead the kindergarten group in a rendition of “The Valley Song.” Calpurnia is yet to appear, but since she’ll be the final performance of the night, she’s not needed until all the children have performed. 

Just when we’re starting to wonder if she’ll turn up, Calpurnia bursts through the doors. She’s larger-than-life with big hair, heavy make-up and a loud voice. She also has the biggest behind I’ve ever seen. I’m fascinated as she waddles over to Max to give him an effusive hug. Max proudly makes the introductions and we all get a hug; Marius the longest. Calpurnia spends about ten minutes discussing musical arrangements with the band and then she takes her place on stage. We all gather around. You could hear a pin drop. Even the children are silent. 

The music starts off softly and then Calpurnia’s voice joins in. Her voice must have been magnificent in its day, but age has taken its toll and the song is meant for an ingénue and not a woman in late middle-age. But it’s enough to still enthrall and I close my eyes and listen to the words. It’s a beautiful song. It so reminds me of how I felt when Peeta was dating Lace and I had to remain silent about my feelings. I sing along with her in my head, and when the music ceases I come back to reality with a start. The room erupts in spontaneous applause and Calpurnia takes a pleased bow. 

When she’s ready, Calpurnia motions to the bandmaster to start the next song. It’s very different and with a strong slow beat that Calpurnia struts the stage to. I look around at the audience and it’s as if they can’t believe what they’re seeing. “Hey big spender,” trills Calpurnia in her powerful voice. Marius stands close directly behind me, and when Calpurnia sings “I don’t pop my cork for every man I see” and accompanies it with a shimmy that sets her huge bottom in motion, I can feel his body shake in suppressed laughter. 

The room is silent when the music ends, but Calpurnia seems to interpret it as evidence of her talent and bows delightedly when the applause comes. I’ve never been prouder of our children. Gale and I would have run from the room snorting with laughter. Calpurnia leaves soon after, and we gather the children together for the walk back to the school. Not much is said on the return journey. The consensus seems to be that we’ll already have their money, so it’s all good. 

I don’t see Marius until late that evening. He has last minute arrangements to do for the after-party where the real fundraising happens. He says that it’s not unlike the sponsorships in the Games. Business owners spend vast sums for the prestige of being associated with a winner. In our case, it’s about having a reputation for supporting the community in the hope that the community will, in turn, support their business. Marius has promised that every donation will be acknowledged with a certificate. The largest donors will be presented with a plaque as a mark of their generosity that’s to be attached to the new classrooms when they are built. 

“What did you think of Calpurnia?” I ask, when we’re replete from lovemaking. Marius is laid out flat and I’m lying across him. One hand idly strokes my back. 

Marius groans. “I did try to warn Max. I suppose the majority who are coming to see her will simply be happy they got to see Calpurnia Lush perform. But what about that arse? I could park my car in it.”

I start to laugh and then stop myself. Poor Calpurnia. I have this feeling she’s become a figure of fun and it’s taken a lot of courage to attempt a comeback. “Be kind. She can’t help it.”

“I am being kind. With so many more cars on the roads, women with big arses will be in demand for carparking space.” 

“That leaves me out then.” My own is on the modest side.

Marius hoists me higher to bring my bottom within his reach. He takes a cheek in each hand and squeezes like he’s testing melons and then trails his fingers between them as if to measure the depth. “I’ve been thinking of getting a bicycle.” 

I give him a thump as he laughs at his own joke. For the umpteenth time, I’m reminded of how much I’m going to miss him. 

__________________________________________________________________

I part the curtain slightly and peer out at the auditorium. The doors have just opened and members of the audience are starting to take their seats. We’ll be on in half an hour. My little charges are getting into costume ready to perform. Readier than I am. I don’t like being on stage. The last time was at the Quell when I was interviewed by Caesar Flickerman. My fellow tributes and I were performing for our lives. That’s when Peeta told Caesar that he and I had had a toasting and I was pregnant. I wish it had been true; the toasting part anyway. It would be nice to have that memory. As if on cue, Peeta appears with Lace at the door. Lace is wearing a pink satin gown, her hair swept upwards in a loose bun. Peeta is in a dinner suit. Of course, they’ll be going to the after-party. Lace is a business owner. Inwardly I groan, but perhaps, with a bit of luck and some artful manoeuvrings, I’ll manage to avoid them. They take their seats second row from the front, in the centre. Now I know where not to look. 

I drop the curtain but as I turn, I find Marius standing close to me. He takes me by the shoulders and spins me around. 

“Wow, you’re looking especially gorgeous tonight. Is that a new dress?” I smooth down the full emerald green skirt. 

I shake my head. “It’s one of Cinna’s. He made it for me, for one of the Capitol parties. I like to honour him by wearing his clothes.”

Marius’s eyes soften in understanding. I had told Marius what happened to him. “You do.”

“You’re not looking so bad, yourself. New suit?” Marius, who always takes care of his appearance, is wearing a streamlined black suit that flatters his slim figure. The tailoring is exceptional.

“It is, indeed. There’s a new tailor in town. He’s from 8. His family has a long tradition in the clothing industry. Oh, and I found out where Lace got the money to start her business.”

“Where?”

“In the bombed-out factory where the family used to work. Her father later returned to the ruins and found the safe. Since everyone who had a claim to it was dead, he was entitled to keep it. They used the money to live on during the war and then invested most of what was left in Lace’s business.”

“Oh, that makes sense. But how does the tailor know about it?”

Marius shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe Lace told him. Her shop is close by. They probably know each other.”

Our conversation is interrupted my Milo. He tells me I’m needed. In the makeshift dressing rooms backstage, mothers are applying the finishing touches to their young offspring who are in that transitional stage between over-excited and ready for bed. Just as well we’re the first act. 

I call the children to me and they gather around. Ivy takes up her usual position by my side. 

“We’ll be going on stage soon to perform our song, and while we wait for the curtains to open, I need you all to be very quiet. Just like a little mouse. Do you think you can do that?”

There’s a chorus of “yes, Miss Everdeen.” 

“And what’s the most important thing to do when we perform?”

“Have fun!” they yell in unison.

“Let’s go then.” 

Moira helps me line them up according to height when we get on stage. And then we wait. Nervously I listen to Mr Matson make a brief speech about how much the school has grown and why this fundraiser is so important. Then Milo takes over. He’s emcee for the night. Max was the more obvious choice but he wanted to be backstage if any emergencies came up. But Milo is surprisingly good, his voice clear and relaxed. I hear us being introduced and then the curtains part. There’s a smattering of applause and then the music starts. The children look to me for their cue to start singing. They’ve been instructed to keep their eyes front but I doubt many of them will. 

Down in the valley, the valley so low  
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow  
Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow;  
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.  
Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,  
Angels in Heaven know I love you,  
Know I love you, dear, know I love you,  
Angels in Heaven know I love you. 

The song comes to an end and the audience claps enthusiastically. There’s even a few whistles. The children take a bow and the curtains close. Quickly, I march them off stage to clear the area for the next act. My final duty is to deliver them to their parents in the dressing room. I sigh in relief. I intend that to be my last time on stage. Ever.

I then make the rounds amongst the other groups of students to offer assistance if needed. Everything seems to be going to plan. Max has done a superlative job organising everything down to the smallest detail. He should be very proud of what he’s achieved tonight. I spot Max coming out of Calpurnia’s dressing room, and I make my way towards him to congratulate him. But I’m stopped dead in my tracks. Max looks on the verge of some kind of nervous breakdown. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he replies, clearly agitated. He indicates the door. “Take a look.”

I knock on Calpurnia’s door. I hear a slurred “come in.” With trepidation, I enter. Calpurnia is a mess. Her hair is in disarray, and her make up is smudged. There’s half a bottle of a clear liquid on the dressing table. I think it’s vodka. Tears well in her eyes and slide down her cheeks, leaving little rivulets of black mascara. 

“I can’t do it,” she wails. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.” 

It’s clear she’s in no state to perform so I don’t try to persuade her. I put my hand over hers and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to. We’ll work something out. Get yourself cleaned up, and we’ll organise for someone to take you home.” 

This seems to calm her and she reaches for a tissue to wipe her face. On the other side of the door, Max is waiting for my assessment. 

“It’s no good. She can’t perform tonight. Maybe not any night. We’ll just have to explain to the audience that she’s unwell.” 

“We can’t do that! We promised them Calpurnia Lush! Most of them aren’t here to see a bunch of kids perform. We’ll have to give them their money back. Fuck! This is the worst day of my life.” 

Max’s voice steadily increases in volume and reaches a crescendo on the “fuck”. Moira comes running over to tell him to keep the noise down. Mr Matson and Marius also appear, no doubt attracted by the commotion. 

Mr Matson attempts to calm Max down. “Not everyone will want their money back. And perhaps we can recoup some of the lost profit from the concert with the proceeds from the after-party.”

“Who will expect to meet Calpurnia Lush,” adds Max. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“There are children present, Max,” scolds Moira. “Mind your language.”

“Katniss can do it.” 

Everyone turns to Marius in astonishment.

“Katniss has a beautiful voice. And she’s a famous name. Not for singing, exactly. But she fits every other criterion. Really, what do we have to lose?”

Before I can protest, Marius appeals to me. “You can do this, Katniss. Just pretend it’s a karaoke night where you go into your own little world to sing.”

All eyes are on me in mute appeal. Max takes both my hands in his. “Katniss, I swear if you do this for me, I promise never to annoy you again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say automatically. 

After some moments of silence, I hear myself say “Alright,” in a faint voice. Max raises my hands to his lips and kisses them. 

“But I’m not singing that Big Spender song. And if you get Milo to introduce me as the Mockingjay I will kill you. And you know I can do it.” 

“Anything you want.” 

“I’ll need the lyrics to “On My Own.” I think I know them, but I want to make sure. And check with the bandmaster if he knows “You’ve Lost That Loving Feelin’”. It’s a popular song, so he should.” It has become something of a theme song for me on karaoke nights. 

Max dashes off. 

“We very much appreciate this, Katniss,” says Mr Matson. “I know you’ve wanted to put your time in the public gaze behind you and this wasn’t an easy decision. Thank you so much.” Moira gives me a hug and wishes me good luck. Marius and I are left alone. 

“I feel sick.” 

Marius pulls me to him and rubs my back in long strokes. I don’t know whether to accept his comfort or knee him in the groin for getting me into this. “You’ll be fine. You know how it is when you sing, you forget everything else. Or imagine the audience is naked. I’ve heard that works.” 

Somehow, I don’t think imagining Peeta naked will have the desired effect. I take a deep cleansing breath. “I need to be alone for a while, to get in the zone, do voice warm-ups; that sort of thing. I’ll be in the room opposite. Could you let Max know? “

“Of course.” Marius kisses the top of my head, and then I’m on my own. 

I go over the lyrics to “On My Own” when Max brings them to me. But I’m been singing it to myself since I heard Calpurnia so it doesn’t take long to memorise it. I use the remaining time to practice the songs between visits to the bathroom. 

There’s a knock on the door. “Showtime,” calls Max. He escorts me to the wing where I wait to be introduced. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m afraid I have disappointing news. Calpurnia Lush is unable to perform as advertised.” I hear tittering from the audience and a few boos. “Calpurnia has suddenly taken ill, and she’s devastated that she can’t be with us tonight. However, one of own teachers has agreed to sing in her place. Please give a warm welcome to Katniss Everdeen.” 

I know I’m supposed to walk on stage now, but my feet refuse to obey. Max gives me a small push. “Break a leg,” he says. 

“What?” I say back to him as I stumble onto centre stage to tepid applause. For the first time, I look out at the audience. To my relief, I can’t see past the first few rows because of the bright lights. But I do see Peeta. He smiles encouragingly at me, and I feel myself steady. I take a deep breath and wait for my cue. 

I start softly, tentatively, but gradually grow in confidence. I keep my eyes on Peeta throughout. In these moments, he’s my safe harbour again. The strong arms that protect me from the night. 

On my own  
Pretending he's beside me  
All alone  
I walk with him till morning  
Without him  
I feel his arms around me  
And when I lose my way I close my eyes  
And he has found me

The world has disappeared. It’s just Peeta and me. Emotions I’ve kept suppressed and hidden find release at last. My voice takes on a pathos I didn’t think it was capable of. 

Without me  
His world will go on turning  
A world that's full of happiness  
That I have never known  
I love him  
I love him  
I love him  
But only on my own

When the song ends the spell is broken and I’m acutely aware of where I am. In front of an audience far less forgiving than the karaoke crowd I usually sing in front of. I wait nervously for the reaction. Total silence. I momentarily panic remembering the reaction to Calpurnia’s “Big Spender” when no one knew what to make of it. But then the applause comes, loud and rapturous. My eyes flick over to Peeta. He’s clapping as enthusiastically as the rest of them. And with so much love and pride, that time seems to stand still and we’re Katniss and Peeta again, the star-crossed lovers from District 12. 

When the applause dies down, the band plays the opening bars of the next song. This one is very different, and because I’m so accustomed to it, I relax immediately. I’m back in the pub, singing to an audience that likes anything that’s dished up as long as you put in the effort. But as usual for me, the words take over and they are as poignant to me as ever. 

If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah  
We had a love, a love, a love you don't find everyday  
So don't, don't, don't, don't let it slip away  
Bring back that lovin' feelin'  
Whoa, that lovin' feelin'  
Bring back that lovin' feelin'  
'Cause it's gone, gone, gone  
And I can't go on, woah

This time, when the song ends, I don’t dare look at Peeta. The inherent message in the song is an emotional hot potato considering our history. Instead, I simply take my bow, give a departing wave to the audience and leave the stage. For the last time. Definitely. 

Backstage I’m greeted with congratulations coming from so many sources that I don’t know who they belong to. Max sweeps me into a hug so tight, I fear my ribs will break. Mr Matson pumps my hand. I hear Marius say, “I knew you could do it.” Moira kisses my cheek. Reserved Mrs Matson gives me a warm “well done.” Teachers, parents, and children old enough to still be awake add their voices too. I smile and accept their thanks but all I want is to be alone. But I won’t have my wish for a few hours yet, at least. There’s a party to go to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs - "On My Own" from Les Miserables & "You've Lost That Loving Feelin'" by The Righteous Brothers


	4. Chapter 4

The after-party is less than a block away so it’s an easy walk to get there. Marius has booked the reception room of the most exclusive hotel in 12 for the event. His wealthy Capitol background has come in good stead. Everything from the choice of wines, to background music, to the selection of canapes is as sophisticated as anything you’d find in Panem. It suits the new snobbery of the District which fancies itself as the “Capitol of the South.” It’s ironic that the people who suffered and fought against the rampant capitalism of the Capitol now want a piece of it themselves. But, of course, I don’t say that. We want their money. I only wish I were somewhere else.

As the Calpurnia Lush stand-in, I’m required to smile and do the meet-and-greet thing. My brief return to celebrity seems to have done what I was most afraid of; it’s reignited interest in the Mockingjay. Nearly everyone I’ve been introduced to has made reference to it. To the audience it wasn’t Katniss Everdeen, teacher, who sang on stage but the persona they had been familiar with on their TV screens. It feels like all the effort I’ve put in to be ordinary Katniss Everdeen again has been wasted time. A roving photographer, here to take society pictures for the local newspaper, flashes his camera at me so many times that Marius steps in and warns that he’ll be removed from the premises if he persists. What’s worse is being asked if I’d be photographed with Peeta. Angrily I tell him we don’t perform for the cameras anymore. But behind the anger there’s also pain. Pain that any photo of the two of us would simply be as fellow Victors, nothing more. 

I manage to avoid Peeta and Lace the same way I avoided them in the Village. I note where they are at any given moment. If they are at one end of the room, I contrive to be at the other. It keeps me moving around as they are keen networkers. Or rather, Lace is. Peeta follows where she does. He’s a little bored if I read him correctly, but not unhappy about it. They are still very touchy feely with each other after nearly a year of marriage. I should be glad that Peeta appears happy in his marriage, but I’m angry. That connection we had when I sang, and the way he looked at me after. And now it’s back to Lace. Always back to Lace. But why should I be surprised? It’s a familiar pattern. Courting her, and giving me signs of encouragement at the same time, because those hands-on bread making lessons were nothing but. I watch them deep in conversation with the mayor and his wife. I have an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. If I went down to the kitchens later I’d probably find them mid-grope in a dark corner somewhere. 

“Quite the belle of the ball,” a gruff voice says behind me. 

“Shut up, Haymitch. You know I hate this sort of thing.” 

Haymitch comes to stand by my side. I see he’s a little worse for drink. Marius has made sure the alcohol runs freely. Haymitch would never say no to good liquor. 

“Well, you just did the worst thing possible if you want to keep the attention off you. Although I’ve always admired your readiness to come to the rescue, inconvenient though it was at times.” 

Haymitch points his glass in Marius’s direction. “How’s the boyfriend?” 

“He’s good.” I answer, surprised at the question. I’ve never referred to Marius as my boyfriend and we only engage in physical contact when we’re alone. To anyone who doesn’t know better, we’re just good friends. I wonder how Haymitch got that impression. 

“We haven’t seen you around for a while,” says Haymitch, almost accusingly. It’s true though. I haven’t been back to the Village since I moved house. “I’m worried about the boy.”

I look over at Peeta. He has an arm around Lace’s waist. They’ve moved on to talk to another couple now. The owners of the ice-cream parlour, I think. 

“He seems happy enough.” I reply. A waiter passes by with a drink tray. I grab a glass of white wine and take a hasty sip. I don’t like where this conversation is going. 

“Outwardly it might appear that way. But he’s heading for a breakdown and I think it will come sooner rather than later. He could really use a friend, right now.”

“He has you. And he has a wife. He doesn’t need me, if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Sweetheart, I’ve known you to be stubborn, surly and infuriatingly dense at times. But never callous. This rift between you eats at him. The marriage isn’t working out either, despite appearances. And that’s before we even get into what Snow did to him. I’m not saying it hasn’t been hard for you too, but if those words “protect each other” meant anything, now might be the time to remember it. Just think about it, is all I’m saying.” 

And with that Haymitch moves off. In the direction of the bar, wouldn’t you guess. I’m infuriated! If Haymitch hadn’t interfered, after I explicitly told him not to, my feelings for Peeta would have stayed secret. I could have kept pretending as before. Stayed Peeta’s friend as before. But once it was out in the open, there was no going back. And he talks as if I’m in the wrong somehow. That what I’ve built couldn’t come tumbling down like a pack of cards if the merest touch were to disturb it. I matter too. But it seems that, in Haymitch’s eyes, my welfare is of less importance. Haymitch always did like Peeta better than me. 

My thoughts are disturbed by the loud tapping of a glass from the podium. Marius introduces Mr Matson who makes a short speech to thank everyone in attendance for their support of the school and how gladdened he is that District 12 has so many conscientious and civic minded citizens. He talks of the importance of community and how the contributions of the business sector can make such a big difference to the quality of life for all. Now that egos have been puffed up, purse strings may be loosened a little more. I see Marius in the midst of “schmoozing”, as he calls it. He’s certainly good at it. The women, particularly, are charmed by him. 

With a start, I realise that I’ve neglected my surveillance of the Mellarks. I quickly scan my surroundings and see Lace disappearing down the hall, probably headed for the ladies’ room. I feel Peeta before I see him. I’m so familiar with how his height and breadth feels next to mine, and the faint scent of cinnamon and dill that seems to be an intrinsic part of him. My heart seems to constrict inside my chest, and I take a deep steadying breath. 

“Hey,” I say, as I turn to him. 

Peeta smiles down at me. Even though he’s medium height, and I’m in heels, he still has a significant advantage over me. “Hey, yourself. You were wonderful tonight. I’m sure the birds stopped to listen.”

“They must have been owls then. I hope there’s no . . . repercussions.”

A faint frown appears on Peeta’s face. And then he shrugs. “It will probably be a sensation, for a day or two. No one pays much attention to what happens in 12.”

I nod my head, although I’m not entirely convinced. 

“I think – “ 

That’s all I get out before I’m blinded by a flash of light. When I recover I can see the photographer who was harassing me earlier. He got what he wanted. A photograph of the couple known as the star-crossed lovers. Who aren’t lovers any more. Peeta puts out an arm to push him away and uses his body to shield mine. He may as well save himself the effort. It only takes one photograph. 

The photographer dashes for the exit, his precious cargo held tight against him. 

“Katniss, are you are OK?” Peeta asks anxiously. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” I reply. “Shit! If that photo gets into the wrong hands – “

“It will be nothing,” Peeta assures me. “It’s just a photo of us at the same fundraising dinner. And we weren’t doing anything more than just talking.”

“Maybe. I hope so.” 

But then all it took was me to sing at a fundraising event and I’m back to being perceived as the Mockingjay. Like it, or not, the star- crossed lovers will be part of the public consciousness as long as there are still people alive to remember it. I’ll weather whatever storm comes out of tonight. It’s Peeta who has the most to lose. He’s the one in a troubled marriage, if what Haymitch says is correct. He’s the one under terrible mental strain who’ll be assailed by reminders of a past for which he has incomplete memories. I gaze into that kind, handsome face that I still love despite everything. He’s worried for me, not thinking of himself at all. It’s so typically Peeta. And I’ve hurt him again. I always hurt him. 

I’m ashamed of my earlier reaction to Haymitch’s words. It was selfish, because fundamentally that’s what I am. I was thinking only of myself. But Haymitch was wrong about one thing. Peeta doesn’t need me as a friend. If public attention turns to us again, the best thing for him is to be able to deny any kind of relationship with me. And for that, I have to stay away from him. 

Lace has returned from the ladies’ room. She hangs back, frowning. It tells me what I need to know. I’m obviously a source of tension between them. If I needed another reason to keep my distance, this is it.

“I think your wife wants you. I should go now, anyway. See you around, Peeta.” 

Marius has stopped by the refreshments table to help himself to the canapes. I sidle up alongside him. 

“I think I might leave now. I’m tired, and I don’t think I’m needed for anything else.” I say to him. 

Marius stops eating to peer into my face. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

“I’m OK,” I assure him. “I’m just very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“If you wait a little while, I’ll drive you home.” 

“No, I want to walk. It might clear my head. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Monday, then. Thanks for tonight, Katniss. You really did save us from disaster. You’re my hero. But you already knew that.”

I smile but I’ve never felt less like one. Outside, the street is almost deserted. My feet hurt, so I remove my shoes to walk barefoot. The walk turns to a run. Suddenly I’m in a hurry to get home to do something I haven’t done in months. Cry. 

________________________________________________________________

Two weeks later, it appears that my fears were unfounded. The local newspapers covered the event extensively, but a day later it was back to business as usual. The fundraiser was an outstanding success, yielding more than we actually need. But with the school growing so quickly, if it funds an extra classroom, all the better. 

In about three weeks, Marius will be leaving for 2 and we’re making the most of the time we have left. For a so-called ladies’ man, Marius has been surprisingly faithful. There’s no end of women who’d like to spend time with him, but to my knowledge, there’s only been me. I suspect he’s what’s called a serial monogamist. Once in 2, I don’t think he’ll be without female companionship for long. 

“Katniss, you’re not concentrating. You’ll never be good at chess until you learn to plan a few moves ahead. You’ve just put yourself in check.”

I put back the rook that was guarding my king, and contemplate an alternative move. I think I’m screwed. 

“It’s playing naked, I think. It’s distracting. Is there really such a thing as nude chess? Or did you make it up?”

“As if I would. There’s nude chess competitions all across Panem. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it, even in 12.” 

“Hmm,” I say. Sometimes I don’t know if Marius is being serious or not. It sounds outlandish to me, but they did do some very weird things in the Capitol. 

I move my bishop a few squares. It doesn’t seem to worsen my position, at least. But a few moves later, Marius has me in checkmate. 

“Hey, that was sneaky. I was watching your queen and I was caught out by a measly pawn.”

“That was your mistake. Never underestimate the pawns. Once it makes it to the other side, it becomes another queen. I call that move the reverse cowgirl. Because it comes from behind.” 

“What’s reverse cowgirl?” 

Marius looks up. “It’s what we were doing an hour ago.

“Oh.” I blush at the memory. I was so carried away that I didn’t think about what kind of image I was presenting to Marius until I felt his thumb press into my rear end. It’s not that I didn’t like it. I’m actually embarrassed by how much I did. 

Marius smiles as if he knows what I’m thinking. “You’re so cute. There’s variations on the theme if you liked that one.” 

I blush even harder. But I can’t deny that I’m intrigued. 

There’s a sudden loud knock at the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Marius asks.

“No.” This is incredibly inconvenient. I don’t want to answer it. I want to go back to the bedroom and try the variations. 

The knocking becomes even louder. A male voice yells, “Katniss, open the damned door. This is important. I know you’re at home. I can see you through the window.”

“Oh, shit! It’s Haymitch.” 

There’s a mad scramble for our clothes. A few minutes later, dishevelled and red faced, I open the door.

Thankfully, Haymitch has other things on his mind than what Marius and I were up to. 

“There’s news crews everywhere. Your house in the Village is surrounded. It’s only a matter of time before they realise you’re not there. They’ve surrounded Peeta’s house too. I sneaked out the back to warn you, although it wouldn’t surprise me if I was followed. If you’d bothered to have a phone installed, I could have called you.”

“Says the man who ripped his out.” 

I go to the window to search for anything untoward, but there’s nothing out of the usual. 

“I don’t think you’ve been followed. How long have they been there? Is Peeta OK?” I ask anxiously. 

“Peeta and Lace are holed up in their house. Peeta came out to tell them to leave, but all it achieved was to give them more television footage. They look like they’re here for the long haul.”

“They’ve probably got reporters scouring the town interviewing anyone they can find for dirt,” says Marius, still tying his shoes. “I know how cockroaches work. I’m certain Plutarch’s behind this. Anything for ratings.”

Marius stands up and collects his car keys from the hall table. “Haymitch, where’s a phone I can use?” 

“The council offices are about 10 minutes away. There’s phones there. What do you plan to do?”

“Stomp on a cockroach,” says Marius grimly. “Katniss you’d better stay here, in case you’re seen. This won’t take long.” 

I never did find out what means Marius used to call off Plutarch. Some kind of threat, I suspect. What Marius said about people in high places with too much to lose if the real story about the aftermath of the war got out. Within an hour, the news crews were gone. Nothing appeared on either television or in print. It was like it never happened. 

Later, in bed, I tell Marius, “You’re my hero.” 

“Only because you were mine first. I wouldn’t be alive if not for you.”

“We’re even then. I saved you, and then you saved me. And I’m not just talking about calling off Plutarch.” I lean over to kiss him on the lips, and then trail kisses down his body until I get to his groin. I take him in my mouth, and Marius combs his fingers through my hair to rest on my scalp. 

“If this was grading papers, I’d give you an A plus,” he says between moans.

I stop for a moment to look up at him. “It’s because I have a great teacher.” And then I get back to work.  
__________________________________________________________________  
The school year winds to an end. Summer vacation has started and tomorrow Marius leaves for 2. He won’t be the only one taking a trip. I’m spending the holidays with my mother in 4. I applied to the government to have my travel restrictions relaxed only to learn that they had been revoked twelve months after I arrived back in 12. No one thought to let me know, it seems. I look forward to swimming in the sea and long walks on the beach. And seeing my mother again, of course. 

We spend his final night in 12 together. Our suitcases are in the hall, ready to go. He’ll drive me to the train station, before he makes the long drive to 2. After a light supper, we go to bed. But not to sleep. 

Marius slaps me lightly across the buttocks. “So, what do you think?

I push off from my hands and back into a kneeling position before coming to sit near the top of the bed beside him. “It’s OK, I guess.” Now that we’ve finished, I feel shy. 

“It seemed to me you enjoyed it. But it can be an acquired taste. Being fucked up the arse.”

I feel my face grow hot. That may have been what just happened, but to hear it stated so baldly makes me cringe.

“You’re not blushing, are you? I thought you were over your provincial ways by now.” A devilish gleam appears in Marius’s eyes. “Katniss, say “cunt.”’

“No.” 

“Go on. It won’t kill you.”

“Cunt, then.”

“Now say, “Marius, lick my cunt.”’

“Marius, lick my cunt.”

“OK.” He grabs my feet and pulls me down the bed until I’m lying flat. His hands push my thighs apart and then his head is between them. He swipes his tongue in one long lick like I’m an ice-cream cone. “See how good things can happen, when you’re not shy about asking for what you want?”

Later, I’m curled against his side, his arm around my shoulders. Marius snores softly. I lie awake thinking about the past year. Around this time a year ago, Peeta and Lace were busy with final wedding preparations. I was desperate for it not to go ahead, but too scared to speak up. I was convinced it wouldn’t achieve anything other than to spoil the friendship. And I was right, it did. But it freed me too. What I have now is better than if I had continued to live a lie. I’ll always love Peeta, but life can be good without him. It has been good without him. I owe a lot to the man beside me. He’s shown me how to enjoy life again. That I’m desirable. That I’m valued. Sex with him is fun, and adventurous. But I yearn for something more. I yearn for what Peeta and I could have had, if not for the hijacking. But I’m hopeful that one day I might find it. I extricate myself from Marius’s arms, kiss his cheek, and roll over to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Swimming in the sea takes a bit of getting used to after a calm, still lake. There’s currents that can drag you out so far out that you may never be seen again. Waves that can push you back to shore or crash over your head. And water that tastes vile if you get a mouthful of it. But it’s big and exciting, and unpredictable. 

There’s a sheltered cove I sometimes go to where the waves are gentle and I can float on my back and bob like a cork, like I do today. I partially close my eyes against the bright sunshine and let my thoughts drift until seawater unexpectedly splashes over my face, and my feet seek immediate contact with the seafloor. It’s time to come in anyway. I start to wade towards the shore, but I’m brought to an abrupt halt when a large sea creature swims across my path. Panicked, I immediately think it must be a shark. A dozen scenarios flash through my mind, none of them good. I don’t have my bow, or even a knife. I’m going to be eaten alive, like Cato. 

But then a pointed nose breaks the surface and I can breathe again. It’s a dolphin. He pushes a long strand of seaweed towards me with his snout. I think he wants me to throw it. I oblige and throw it as far as I can. And then he swims off to retrieve it for me to throw again. Entranced, I throw it several times until he gets tired of that game. He starts another by diving in front of me to nudge my feet with his nose. When I hop back, he repeats the action. I’ve never had such a fascinating playmate. But then as suddenly as he appeared, he decides to make his departure, swimming towards the open sea. 

“He likes to follow the fishing boats out at this time of day,” says a voice behind me. 

Startled, I turn to see a man standing on the beach. He’s youngish, of medium build and with sandy hair. 

“Sorry if I scared you. I was taking a walk, and I saw you with Moko.”

I wade the short distance to shore to retrieve my towel. “Moko?”

“The dolphin. He often comes close to shore to play with swimmers. He seems to prefer human company to his own kind, because he’s always around somewhere. Either playing or following the boats out. He’s very popular around here.”

“I can imagine.” I hastily pull a loose top over my head and gather my belongings. This is an isolated beach and he’s blocking my only exit. He doesn’t look threatening, but I don’t want to take a chance. 

He seems to sense my discomfort because he steps back to give me more space. “You’re new around here. I’m Magnus, by the way. Magnus Clark”

I hesitate before I reply, uncertain that I want to be recognised. But 4 is small. I’m just as likely to meet him again before I leave and a lie now would be awkward later. “Katniss Everdeen,” I say, and wait for the usual flash of recognition. I’m not disappointed.

“Angelica’s daughter?”

That’s not what I was expecting. “You know my mother?”

“We work together at the hospital. She told me her daughter was visiting. She’s done amazing work, getting the hospital up and running. The community owes a lot to her. You should visit the hospital while you’re here. See what she’s achieved.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Perhaps I’ll see you there,” I say, as I make my leave. 

At dinner, I tell my mother about the meeting with Moko and Magnus. 

“Magnus is head of the psychiatric wing at the hospital. He sees a lot of patients with PTSD. He treats Annie,” my mother replies.

“How is Annie?” The last time I saw Annie as at the Victor’s meeting where we had to vote to have another Games or not. That would be four years ago now. 

“She has her good and bad days, but taking care of little Finnick helps keep her grounded. She lives not far from here. We’ll have her over, perhaps on the weekend.” 

“That’ll be nice. I’d like to see her again. And meet Finnick Jnr. Annie sent me a photo soon after he was born but he must look very different now.”

My mother chuckles fondly. “Yes, he’s grown quite a bit since then.” She hesitates for a moment before she continues. “There’s someone else you know, that’s stayed in contact. Gale. He visits 4 occasionally as part of his work. He’s let me know he’ll be here next week. I’ve invited him over for lunch on the Tuesday. I have an evening shift after, if you want to be alone to talk.”

Gale. I thought I’d never see him again. My best friend. My first crush, if I’m honest with myself. But then I met Peeta. What might have sparked and caught fire was extinguished before it could barely begin. Prim’s death scattered the ashes. 

“Does he know I’ll be here?” Gale made it clear when we last saw each other that he considered himself unwelcome as far as I was concerned. I can’t say he was wrong, but it was as much about himself as it was about me. Both us were to the other an uncomfortable reminder of how Prim died. 

My mother frowns slightly. “Yes. He said he was looking forward to seeing you again. Is there a problem?” 

I quickly reassure her. “No, of course there’s no problem. I’d like to see Gale again. Catch-up on all that’s happened. We didn’t have the opportunity to talk much before I was sent to 12.” The last part is true at least. 

My mother nods and says nothing more about it. I wonder if she knows that Gale came up with the idea of a double detonating bomb. The same kind of bomb that killed Prim and innocent Capitol children. The bomb that scarred Peeta and me. My guess is no. If Gale is in contact with my mother, it’s probably to assuage his guilt in some way. 

I lie awake that night thinking of him. Sixteen-year-old Katniss never dreamed that Gale, handsome sought-after Gale, would have any romantic feelings for her. She didn’t want a boyfriend, she told herself, yet it didn’t stop her from assuming that people expected that one day she and Gale would marry. It didn’t stop her from wondering how his lips would feel pressed against hers, or being jealous of Gale’s future wife. Yet when he kissed her it didn’t change her mind about not wanting a boyfriend. But then neither did Peeta, even though there was one kiss that made her want more. The girl was too consumed by fears to be concerned with such things.

Yet Peeta quietly worked his way into her heart, so quietly she couldn’t tell you when or how it happened. It just did. Would Gale have stood a chance with her, if not for Peeta? If the war hadn’t revealed a value system so at odds that it caused a yawning chasm to materialise between them? If Gale had had his way, Marius would have died in the avalanche. Peeta would be dead if she had given the word. His bomb would have been just as devastating against enemy soldiers and those who came to their aid, if it had been used the way he intended. But he also saved over eight hundred lives the night 12 was bombed. He saved Prim’s life twice. He was among the volunteers to rescue Peeta from the Capitol. He didn’t hesitate to defend the hospital in 8 from enemy hovercraft. And Boggs had also advised that Peeta be killed. 

I roll from my back onto my side, unable to find a comfortable position. My head is starting to ache, assailed with so many competing notions. I will myself to empty my mind of all things Gale and visualise waves lapping onto shore to lull myself to sleep. But before I do, I resolve to put my solitary beach walks to good use to ponder the matter further. And something about what Marius said too. About Plutarch and people in high places with much to lose. Gale could help me with that. He was there. And with that I drift into a surprisingly restful sleep.  
__________________________________________________________________

Annie is just as I remember her. Flowing, wavy dark brown hair and the sea-green eyes that seems as endemic to the people of 4, as grey eyes were to Seam. Finnick Jnr is a sweet cherubic child with his father’s bronze curls and impish sense of humour. When Annie has one of her random moments of staring into the distance, little Finnick seems to know to give his mother a few seconds, and then repeat the question. But otherwise Annie seems fine, certainly far better than the woman I remember who covered her eyes and ears at the first sign of distress. 

While my mother and Annie chat about 4 news, I entertain Finnick by teasing Buttercup with a ball of yarn. I brought Buttercup with me to 4. I didn’t want to abandon him, being only too familiar with the feeling myself. He was a reluctant traveller, but he had no choice. He seems reconciled to the local diet at least, with seafood at every meal. Eventually Buttercup grows tired of the game, and Finnick rejoins his mother, nestling close to her, his bronze curls contrasting with her deep brown locks. It reminds me of when Finnick and Annie were reunited, and they crashed together, his head bent over hers. 

I had envied their certainty, that no one could doubt their love. And when it was my turn to see Peeta again, I was giddy with joy at the prospect of kisses like the ones we shared on the beach. But instead of kisses, he wrapped his hands around my neck, determined to crush the life out of me. Peeta has made vast strides in his recovery since, but he never really came back to me. I had lost the boy with the bread. Out of Annie and me, who is the better off, I wonder? Annie knows with certainty that Finnick loved her until the moment he died. And she has his son. I no longer have Peeta’s love, but he’s alive at least. We’ve both experienced loss, but Annie’s has to be the most profound. Nothing is more final than death. We have only our memories to keep them alive. 

Suddenly, I have an idea. I ask my mother if I can borrow her camera. I take snaps of Annie and little Finnick, and my mother too. I beg Annie for a photo of Finnick to take back with me to 12. Photos of Rue and other Games contestants should be archived in the Capitol. Perhaps I can get copies. Sadly, memories of others, such as Boggs, can only be recorded in words. I wish I could draw. Peeta could do it. But we’re only just on speaking terms, and who knows what he remembers anyway. Perhaps, in this book of memories I have planned, I should include a page for the boy with the bread. For surely, he’s as much a victim as Prim, or Finnick, and deserves his place in it too. 

The next couple of days speed by. I feel nervous and unprepared to meet Gale. My mother said he’s looking forward to seeing me again, but he could have trotted out the same false assurances for my mother that I did. The last I heard of Gale, he had a fancy job in 2 and was on television occasionally. I wonder if he knows how it turned out for Peeta and me. I told my mother of Peeta’s marriage to Lace. It’s likely she passed on the news. 

My mother seems oblivious to my nerves as she prepares lunch. She’s made her famous seafood chowder. I set the table, my dread growing by the minute. I actually jump when the doorbell rings. My mother wipes her hands on a tea towel and eagerly opens the door to him. She and Gale hug, and then his gaze turns to me. He remains where he is, uncertain, and I realise that he’s just as nervous as I am. This gives me courage and I walk forward to hug him too. I can feel the tension ebb from his body as he returns the embrace. The ice broken, we can now sit down to enjoy the meal. 

My mother’s “famous” seafood chowder is justifiably so. It’s just as well she made a large pot of it, because Gale and I have second helpings. Good food and the wine that accompanies it puts me in a mellow mood. I’m happy to sit back to watch and listen as Gale and my mother discuss the hospital. Gale is as handsome as ever, but he looks older than his years. He’s only two years older than me, but it could be ten. The war, and his part in it, has obviously taken a toll. I glean from the conversation that Gale is involved in the rebuilding of Panem, particularly in the area of health provision. Much of the funding for the hospital in 4 is due to Gale. I realise that this is Gale’s attempt to make restitution. For Prim and the children killed by what was probably the bomb he helped invent. However, I know from my own experience that the guilt never goes away. 

After lunch, Gale and I help my mother to clear away the dishes and wash them. And then, with a knowing smile that travels from me to Gale, she sets out for the hospital. But not before she tells me that she’s working a double shift and won’t be back until the early hours of the morning. Suddenly it occurs to me that my mother is attempting some matchmaking. Perhaps she thinks Peeta married Lace because I had decided that Peeta wasn’t the man for me after all, and Gale is the one I really love. How wrong she is then. 

There’s an awkward moment when the door shuts behind her and Gale and I are left alone. I suggest a walk on the beach to work off lunch, and Gale readily agrees. We walk along in uncomfortable silence; the only sounds are the waves lapping to shore and the cry of gulls overhead. 

Eventually Gale speaks. “I wasn’t sure how I’d be received. Not after Prim.”

“I wasn’t sure either, to be honest. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about . . . various things. I take it my mother doesn’t know?” 

“No. I didn’t think it was helpful that she does. She already had a lot to deal with. Are you going to tell her?”

I shake my head. “No. You’re right, it would serve no purpose.” Nothing can bring Prim back and burdening my mother with this knowledge wouldn’t achieve anything. I hesitate for a moment, not sure how I should broach this. “I mentioned that I’ve been doing lots of thinking lately. I met Plutarch’s cousin not long ago. He said something about too many people in high places have too much to lose if the truth got out. I’ve been working to piece things together. I thought that maybe you might know something I don’t. Something that could complete the puzzle.”

Gail’s brow creases in thought for a moment or two, and then he shrugs. “Like what? I’ve told you what I know. Beetee and I tried as hard as we could to find out which side was responsible for the bomb. Whichever way we turned, we were blocked. We couldn’t ask Coin directly in case it appeared that we suspected her.” 

If Gale and Beetee were asking around, Coin would certainly have heard about it. They didn’t need to go to her to rouse her suspicions. 

“I talked with Snow before the execution,” I say, getting straight to it. 

Gale stops mid-stride and grasps my shoulder to face him. “You did what?”

“I talked with Snow. I was wandering the halls and I smelled roses. I followed the smell because I wanted a rose to place in Snow’s lapel to aim at when I shot him. When I came to a door, guards refused to let me in but Paylor overrode them. Inside was a greenhouse and . . . Snow.”

“Go on.” Gale says, his eyes intent on my face.

“He told me that he was sorry about Prim. And what a waste it was when the war was already over. And then he denied that he did it. He said if he had had a hovercraft, he would have used it to escape. He said Coin and Plutarch were responsible for the bomb – that they wanted to break any remaining loyalty people might have had for him by making them believe that he was the one responsible.”

“It was us, then,” says Gale, dejectedly. “But it still doesn’t make sense. Why would Coin risk discovery if the war was already won? She could have just walked in at that point. There was no need to kill all those kids.”

“No, but it wasn’t just Capitol children that were killed. Prim was too.”

Gale looks at me askance. 

“To neutralise me. Weaken me. Maybe even kill me,” I explain. I realise as I say it, how egotistical that sounds. But Boggs words are still as clear in my memory as the day he said them. “When Peeta joined the star squad. Boggs suspected that Coin hoped Peeta would try to kill me. When I asked him why, he said I had more influence than possibly anyone else in Panem, and when the time came to choose a new leader, people would look to me as to who they should follow. And if my immediate answer wasn’t Coin, I was more valuable to her dead.”

Gale’s brow furrows. “Still don’t see the connection. Coin would have to know your movements, if the bomb was really intended for you and Prim.” Before I can respond, Gale answers for me. “Plutarch. Cressida kept him informed. She knew where you were headed and what you were wearing.” 

“Yes. It wouldn’t have been difficult. The rebel army had infiltrated the Capitol by that time and there were dozens of places they could keep surveillance from. Or they could have even used a hovercraft. Snow said the bombing was aired on television. That’s so typical Plutarch. And the bombs came by parachute, just as they do in the Games.”

“But why would Plutarch want to incriminate himself like that?”

I shrug. “The Games are equally associated with the Capitol. It seems obvious to me that Plutarch and Coin were working together. But also against each other at the same time. It’s like they were getting ready for a power struggle as to who would be on top once the war was won. There was also something else that Snow said. About his doubts that Plutarch meant to hurt Prim.” 

“Plutarch didn’t have the authority to send Prim to the Capitol. I know that much. That decision would have been Coin’s, although Plutarch might have agreed to it.”

“But why would Plutarch agree to it? It was in his best interests to keep me alive, and strong. If he was against Coin, surely the tension between us was to his advantage. No, I’m ready to believe that Plutarch was responsible for some of it. The bombs, maybe. He had no scruples against killing children in the arena, often in the most gruesome way possible. Or even that he used parachutes to encourage the children to catch them, self-incriminatory as it might be. Even if it was Coin’s suggestion, he’d have to go along with it to show that she had his trust. But I don’t think he used Prim. Not then, anyway.”

“What do mean “not then”? What else haven’t you told me?’

“Coin held a meeting just before the execution. It was secret. Just Coin and all the surviving victors. She told us the districts demanded revenge and wanted every Capitol citizen killed. She suggested an alternative. To have one last Games with Capitol children. As the districts couldn’t agree, the decision was given to us. If we chose the Games, it would be known that it was with our approval, although the breakdown would be kept secret.”

“Fuck! So, you’re screwed either way? Either vote for a Games, which would result in the least number of deaths and collectively be held responsible for the decision. Or vote to kill off a whole district, but at least no one will blame you. So, what happened?”

“Peeta jumped in first. He voted no for the Games, but seemed to forget that the default was killing thousands more. And then everyone took their lead from him and voted as if it were a simple choice between Games or no Games. It was an even split until it came down to Haymitch and me. But I knew I wouldn’t leave that room if I opposed Coin. And then Prim would never get justice. So, I voted yes, and then Haymitch voted with me and we were allowed to leave.”

“Well, I can tell you that I sat in on every district meeting and not once was there any mention of revenge killings. If you exclude prominent members of Snow’s regime, that is. Or those who had participated in the cruelties in the districts.”

I kick at the sand with the toe of my shoe in disgust as I recall the machinations that were still to follow. Coin couldn’t be blamed for what happened next. It was all Plutarch. Moves and counter-moves, that’s how he operates. I’m just about tell Gale of my suspicions, when he gets in first.

“Plutarch was in charge of the execution. Everything from location, to seating, to television angles. I heard Coin question where she was to be seated. She complained that she should be opposite to Snow, so that one of the last things he saw was her. But Plutarch insisted that directly above him was far better from a televised point of view. The camera could pan upwards from Snow’s dead body to his nemesis above. I could see it appealed to her vanity, but I sensed she still had misgivings. It’s my guess as to why she had the meeting. To test your loyalty before you were let loose with a loaded bow directly in front of her.”

I wait for him to figure out the problem with that.

He continues. “But if Plutarch hoped you’d use the arrow for Coin, it was a longshot. And he couldn’t know that you had reason to kill her.”

“He could if he’d had made a deal with Snow. Snow told me just enough to implicate Coin in Prim’s death, but not enough to completely exonerate Plutarch. That would have made me suspicious. As it was, I didn’t know who to believe. I didn’t really decide which of them to kill until a few seconds before I released the arrow. And as to how Plutarch knew I’d shoot Coin, he didn’t. But he did know I had shot an arrow into an audience on impulse once before. He ended up in a punchbowl because of it.”

Gale looks at me in astonishment. “What?”

“At the private session in front of the Gamemakers. Where we’re accessed and given our score. I got frustrated because they were paying more attention to a stupid roast pig with an apple in its mouth than me. So I shot the apple. It’s how I got an 11.” 

Gale lets out a long breath. “When I woke up this morning, I was prepared for just about anything, but certainly not this. It does seem to make sense though. I suppose it also explains why you were treated so leniently afterwards. There must have been a lot of guilty consciences.”

“Lenient?” I splutter. “I was only thrown into solitary confinement for weeks with no word on what was to happen to me. And then I was dumped in 12 with only a drunk and ashes for company.”

“Yes, lenient,” says Gale patiently. “You did kill a president, Katniss. But you were taken care of. As well as can be permitted for someone on trial for assassination, anyway. And then you were held not responsible and acquitted. But instead of putting you in an institution, they sent you home and arranged for psychiatric care and someone to feed you. I know for a fact that the government made sure to have someone you know take care of you. That’s how Sae came to be there.”

I can see Gale’s point, but how any of that is compensation for how I had been used and manipulated by self-serving individuals in order to further their own political agenda, is beyond me. I’m also annoyed by how superior Gale seems in this moment. I had intended my next piece of news to bring him some peace, but now I want to take him down a peg or two.

“I wasn’t the only one who was used, you know. If Prim’s death was meant to break me, then the means by which she died was too. Of all the ways you can kill a group of children, why would they choose that one? They wanted to weaken me further by driving a wedge between me and my best friend. It didn’t matter to them that you’d be hurt too.” 

I steal a glance at Gale. His face has grown dark. I immediately feel contrite.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like that. It’s not something I can prove, but it makes sense to me, in light of everything else.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s not like I haven’t thought of it myself. It’s just that no amount of apportioning blame to others can remove my part in it. I have nightmares about children burning nearly every night. The ones I tried to save, and the ones I killed. “

I nod my head in understanding. You can blame the circumstances, that it was kill or be killed, or that it was war, or that the end justifies the means, but it doesn’t help. I try to put myself in Gale’s position, to imagine how it must feel to be indirectly responsible for the deaths of innocent children and my best friend’s little sister. Gale, who had risked his life to save children from a fiery death and had twice saved the life of that same little sister. Gale, who, from the age of 13, worked hard to keep his younger siblings fed. No wonder Gale looks older than his years. The guilt must be crushing. 

It’s not often I feel Prim’s presence. But in that moment, I feel her walking between us, gentle and forgiving. Prim loved Gale like a brother. She wouldn’t want this for him. 

I take his hand in mine. I feel Gale start in surprise. His eyes dart from our joined hands to my face. And then his hand tightens around mine and we walk in silence. Nothing needs to be said. 

After a little while, Gale clears his throat. “So, what do we do now? With what we know, I mean.”

“Nothing. We do nothing. Paylor was involved somehow. She let me in to see Snow. If we talk, we risk throwing the country into chaos. It’s likely to be suppressed anyway.”

“Yet we have a story worth telling. I hate that Plutarch’s version of the truth will be the one to prevail. It will be like the history we were taught in school; nothing but propaganda and lies.”

“I guess all we can do is write an account of our own experience. And then tuck it away until it’s the right time to bring it out. Let future historians decide.” 

We lapse into silence again. I’m shaken out of my reverie by the sight of the main jetty in front of us. I hadn’t realised we had walked so far. We should have turned back ages ago. The sun has begun its descent behind the hills. 

“Where I’m staying isn’t far from here. Let’s have a drink before we head back,” says Gale. 

Gale has a studio apartment in one of the new hotels that’s sprung up along the foreshore. It’s tastefully furnished in neutral tones. I push back the curtains on the floor to ceiling window to admire the ocean view. Meanwhile, Gale raids the refrigerator. He’s stocked it with cold meats and cheeses. He places them on a large plate from a cupboard in the small kitchen. A box of crackers appears from another cupboard. 

“I get hungry at odd times,” explains Gale. “What will you have to drink? There’s the usual. Gin, vodka, whisky, etcetera. There’s some mixed drinks too. How about gin and tonic?”

“Um, no thanks. What else do you have?”

“Rum and cola?” 

“OK. I’ll try that.”

Gale pours it into a glass and I take a sip. It’s not too bad. The sweetness of the cola helps offset the taste of the rum. 

Gale cracks open a beer and we get to work on the food. Soon the conversation turns to our personal lives. I learn that Hazelle, Vick and Posy are still in 2. Rory is in 7 to study forest management. Gale is based in 2 but travels a lot. He hasn’t yet been back to 12. He doesn’t mention a girlfriend but I’m sure he hasn’t been short of female company. I tell him about my teaching and the new house I bought recently.

“What happened with Mellark?" he asks "Your mother told me he was married. I was sure you’d end up together. Especially the way he hotfooted it to 12 as soon as Aurelius would let him.”

I was dreading this. It’s never easy to admit that Peeta fell in love with another girl. But somehow talking about it with Gale is worse. It feels like such a failure. To have your pick of two men, and then to lose both of them. For a moment I’m tempted to go with my mother’s interpretation and tell Gale that it was me who rejected Peeta. But then if he heard the real story later, I’d look even more pathetic. I have to tell the truth.

“Peeta came back different. He had lost most of his memories of us together. And he didn’t want to be reminded of the past, so . . . “ I don’t finish the sentence but shrug to indicate how hopeless it was. “And then he fell in love with another girl and that was it.”

Gale’s eyes never leave me as I tell my short pitiable tale. 

Gale snorts in disgust. “That miserable coward! What happened to his determination to regain his memories? What was the point of the real, not real game? Did it all get too hard for him? I’m sorry, Katniss,” he says, as I try to defend Peeta. “You don’t give up on a girl like you. You just don’t. Why did he even return to 12 in the first place?” 

Good question. “I guess 12 was his home. And his house was there. And Haymitch and me. There weren’t many people left that he knew.” 

“Did he know how you felt about him?” 

“Not for a long while. You see, he told me he wasn’t in love with me anymore and then he started seeing Lace, so it was hard,” I say in a small voice. I’m more that a little afraid of what Gale will say to this. Gale kissed me when he had no idea how I felt about him and I was involved in a very public romance with Peeta. For all he knew, my romance with Peeta was genuine. 

“Yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t say anything,” says Gale, to my surprise. I guess a major difference is that I had never told him I didn’t love him, thereby eliminating the possibility. 

“How do you feel about it now?’ he asks. 

“I get by. I have my job and my new house. And I had a relationship last year. The man I was talking about earlier, Plutarch’s cousin. It’s over now, but it was good.”

Gale doesn’t say anything immediately. He goes to the fridge for another beer. His fourth. I’m still sipping the rum and cola. He pulls the tab, takes a long draught and sits back beside me on the couch.

“Do you think there was ever a chance for us? If the Games and everything else didn’t happen?”

I assume the “everything else” means Prim. “I don’t know. Maybe. If we had stayed Katniss and Gale who hunted together and traded in the Hob. It could have happened. It’s just that we ended up different people to that Katniss and Gale.” 

“Wouldn’t you like the chance to do it over? Be that Katniss and Gale again, knowing what you know now, and avoid every stupid mistake you’ve come to regret?”

I nod my head in agreement. I think of Peeta and all the chances I didn’t take. 

“We can, you know,” says Gale, close to my ear. One hand slides around my shoulders and the other takes my face and turns it towards him. “For just an hour, we can be Katniss and Gale again.”

And then his mouth is on mine. He tastes like beer, and his beard prickles. But his lips are soft and they coax mine into returning the kiss. His tongue gently pries them open. Gale always was a good kisser. A million thoughts race through my head, all of them spelling out “mistake” in big letters. But then Peeta’s face comes into view. He would hate this, even though he’s with Lace now. The Capitol played on his jealousy of Gale. Made him hate me for it. “A piece of work,” he called me. Something tells me that if I respond, I’ll be crossing a line far beyond what I did with Marius. If there’s even a remote chance that Peeta and I get back together, this is something he may find hard to get past. But then hadn’t Peeta crossed a line too? And crossed it first. Anger and resentment flares against him. It’s unfair to Gale, but what I want most in this moment is to get back at Peeta. I put my arms around Gale’s neck and comb my fingers though his hair. That’s all the encouragement Gale needs. Next thing I know, his hand is on my breast, his thumb stroking the nipple.

We make out like horny teenagers. Lots of kissing. Hands on breasts over clothes. Hands on breasts under clothes. Hands on breasts without clothes. I feel Gale’s hand inch its way up my skirt towards my crotch. When it gets there, it gently parts my legs to stroke between them. Fingers slide under the elastic to plunge into the wetness. When one finger flicks across my clit (I learned that word from Marius) all conscious thought flies out of my head. The hand hooks around the crotch of the garment and pulls it down to my knees and then returns to continue its explorations until I’m panting for release. I stretch out on the couch and push my underwear down with my foot until it dangles around one ankle. I put out my arms and open my legs. Gale hastily unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers. And then he’s inside me. One, two, three, four, it’s over. So much for an hour. More like fifteen minutes, from beginning to end. 

Gale rises from on top of me and does himself up. I pull up my underwear and search for my bra and shirt. Silently I put them back on. 

“Oh, is that the time?” I say in an incredulous voice as I point to the bedside clock. “I really should be getting back. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

Gale reaches for a jacket. “I’ll walk you back.”

“There’s no need, really. I’ll take the road now that it’s dark. It’s much shorter that way.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. It’s been great seeing you again, Gale. We should stay in touch,” I lie. 

“Of course,” he lies back.

One final hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I see my last of Gale. I’m glad we made our peace and can now put a period in our relationship. Even if it weren’t for Prim, we can never be as we were, although I think I already knew that. I guess it would be the same for Peeta and me if we ever found our way to each other again either. It’s strange that it still doesn’t feel like it’s completely over despite my efforts to move on. It should. He’s married. That’s almost as final as death for someone who is as determined to keep their word as Peeta is.

I’m still thinking about it when I arrive at my mother’s house. I let myself in, go straight to bed and don’t wake until I hear a cautious knock at the front door followed by the sound of it being opened. It seems my mother half-expected that Gale would still be here. I’ll have to set her straight about the true state of affairs in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

I don’t like hospitals. I’ve had more than my fair share of being a patient in them. From full body polishes to skin grafts, to spleen removal to a threatened boob job. What hospitals mean to me is pain and submitting my control to others. If it didn’t mean so much to my mother, I wouldn’t be spending my last day of vacation touring one. I remind myself, as I mount the short flight of steps at the main entrance, that this hospital is what saved my mother from sinking into the crushing depression that followed the death of my father. Having purpose also saved me from going down a similar path when I finally lost Peeta to Lace. After so many years of identifying with my father, it’s disconcerting to realise that I actually have more in common with my mother. 

Compared to the hospitals in the Capitol, this one is quite small. But it’s grown to have four main wings with a fifth to be added soon. It will specialise in paediatrics and will be called the Primrose Everdeen Memorial Wing. Most of the funding has been due to Gale, and if I have reservations that he’s in my mother’s life, it’s more than compensated by the pride and comfort my mother derives by building a legacy in memorial to Prim. 

After being shown the surgical theatres, the new expensive diagnostic machines, and the outpatients clinic, I’m led into the wards. This is where I’m the most uncomfortable. Sick people are here. The last time I did something similar to this was in 8, and I was just as apprehensive then. Soon after, the hospital was bombed by enemy hovercraft. Memories of the burning building and the trapped patients within flood my brain and I momentarily panic. My feet come to a sudden standstill.

“Katniss, are you alright? Is anything wrong?” my mother asks, with a concerned expression. 

I take a deep breath and give myself a mental shake. “I’m OK. I was just reminded of something, that’s all.”

My mother nods in understanding. She’s used to these flashbacks and sudden panic attacks. Not just from me, but from many of the people she sees.

It’s not as bad as I thought though. Not nearly as bad. Unlike the patients of 8 who were in makeshift beds, with flies swarming around blood soaked bandages, the patients here are in comfortable beds and they are not in any noticeable distress. I feel my heart slow back to its usual rhythm and my breathing return to normal. 

One young man with red hair partially obscured by a bandage, puts out a hand. “Is that you, Katniss? The Mockingjay?” I put on a smile and go over to him. I shake the proffered hand. Beneath the bed clothes, a leg is missing. Automatically, I’m reminded of Peeta. 

“Just Katniss these days,” I reply. “How are you?” 

And he tells me. I learn why he’s here and what he did in the war. Of the people he lost. Of his sufferings under the Capitol. Others call out to me and I go to them. I listen to their stories and what the Mockingjay meant to them, what it still means to them.

Just as I’m about to leave, Magnus Clark, the man I met that day at the beach, approaches. 

“Hello, I’m glad you took the time to visit. You’ve brightened up everyone’s day. There’s few in Panem who don’t have fond memories of the Mockingjay.”

“Not if you were from the Capitol,” I reply, making an attempt at a self-depreciating laugh. “But really, I did very little. I was a symbol. People saw what they wanted to see.” 

“Don’t devalue the importance of symbols. They motivate people, rally them together. Can even inspire a revolution. There’s still a lot you can do, you know. People know of your own losses, that you’ve suffered just as they have. You could be their voice, just as you were during the rebellion.”

Peeta. Peeta would be ideal for this. He’s the one with the words. I don’t know if I could do it without him. But then, it wasn’t Peeta who was chosen to be the Mockingjay. Perhaps it was both of us together that made the impossible happen. 

“I don’t think the government would appreciate that. It hasn’t been explicitly stated, but I get the feeling I’m expected to lay low. After, well, you know.” It’s hardly necessary to explain why the government would rather I didn’t attract publicity to myself at this point. 

“I guess not. But maybe, when it’s all settled down, you might think about it. Look at the effect you had in just one hour. “

Magnus takes his leave, and I rejoin my mother. Someone else once told me of the effect I have. Peeta. He seems to be everywhere today. But it’s given me something to think about. Purpose is what seems to drive the Everdeen women. Perhaps there’s some good I can still do. For Prim. 

____________________________________________________________________________

My house in the Village is just as I left it. Even the primrose bushes. I expected to find them in a very pitiful state but they are thriving and looking far healthier than I remember. Obviously Peeta has been looking after them while I’ve been away. I don’t know whether to feel annoyed or touched by the gesture. But then he did love Prim and it was his idea to plant them originally. Perhaps he does it in remembrance of her. 

It was a shock to discover the state of my “town house” as I call it, on my return from 4. District 12 experienced unusually heavy rains and, for the first time in living memory, the river flooded its banks to the extent that the whole row of houses in my street were a foot deep in flood water. Thankfully nothing that can’t be easily replaced was damaged, but the floor needs to be rebuilt and the house has to be rewired. But because I was away, my neighbours got in first to hire tradespeople, so I’m at the bottom of the list. It could be two to three months at least. 

I get to work putting the Village house in order. I had taken my most used furniture with me when I moved into the town house, so some rooms are half empty. I push, pull, and slide furniture from one room to another until I have workable living and dining rooms. For sleeping, I’ll use my mother’s room which is at the side of the house looking towards the Village gates. From there it will be harder to return to my former habit of spying on the neighbourhood. 

Exhausted from my labours, I make myself a cup of tea and pull up an ottoman to a chair in the living room for a well-earned rest. It’s barely a minute before there’s a loud, assertive knock on the door. Haymitch?

“Brainless!” I’m pulled into a brief but exuberant hug. Johanna stands before me with a grin from ear to ear. 

“Ah, Johanna. This is such a surprise. Where. . . where did you come from?” I peer over her shoulder, wondering if there’s any clues. There are none, but I do take in the suitcase that’s just behind her. 

“From across the road. I’ve been staying with Peeta and his wife. But when I saw you arrive, I thought to myself, I really should share myself around and give you a turn. Peeta can’t have all the fun.” 

“Oh. Oh, of course. Come in. It’s so great to see you again.” I open the door wide, and Johanna hoists her suitcase over the threshold. 

“Where’s the guest room?” 

“Upstairs. First door on the right.” 

“Same as Peeta’s house then. I’ll just get myself settled and then we can have a chat. I like coffee if you have it.” And with that, my uninvited guest tramps her way up the stairs, her suitcase bumping on each step as she goes. 

When Johanna is safely out of hearing, I allow myself the luxury to groan. I like Johanna but that doesn’t mean I want her as a houseguest. I hope she doesn’t stay long. It’s bad enough that I have to live in the Village again. And Johanna will no doubt have questions. I wonder what Peeta has told her. 

I get her coffee ready while she’s occupied. She’ll have to make do with instant since it’s all I have. I make myself another cup of tea since the first one has gone cold. 

Johanna doesn’t take long. She makes herself comfortable in the chair with the ottoman. 

“I want all the gossip. Don’t leave anything out,” demands Johanna. She takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces. I suppress a smile. Maybe the standard of coffee will have her moving back to the Mellarks. 

“I’ll try not to. But I’d rather hear about you first. What brings you to 12?”

Johanna pushes her coffee aside. “The memorial service.”

“What memorial service?” 

“For past tributes,” she says, as if the answer is obvious. “I thought I’d rather commemorate it with my fellow living Victors, than alone in 7. And since the highest concentration of them is in 12, well, here I am.” 

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. When did this happen?”

“It was a late decision by the government, but I’m surprised you weren’t contacted. I was asked to make a speech for the ceremony in 7, but I said no. My days of performing for the masses are well and truly over. But it’s going to be big. National holiday, and everything.”

“I might have been contacted, but I had my mail held at the post office while I’ve been away. I haven’t collected it yet.” I reply. “What about Peeta? Has he been asked to make a speech?”

Johanna regards me curiously. “Yes, he has. It seemed to me that he would like to have said a few words. But I don’t think he wants to dredge up any star-crossed lovers talk. Not now that he has a wife.” Johanna’s emphasis on “wife” hints that this will be her next line of questioning. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, instead? I’m better at tea.” 

“Maybe later. You could have knocked me down with the proverbial feather when this kewpie doll answered the door and said she was Peeta’s wife. It took all my self-control not to blurt out “what happened to Katniss?” So, what did happen to Katniss?”

“What did Peeta say?” I ask.

“He did what you’re doing now. He looked very uncomfortable and obviously did not want to answer the question. Eventually he said it just didn’t work out. And that’s all could get out of him. Haymitch filled me in on some stuff, but nothing about why you two aren’t together.”

I bring my cup to my lips in an effort to hide my face. “It seems a reasonable summation to me.”

“Very unreasonable, you mean. Nothing just doesn’t work out. There’s cause and effect and all that bullshit. I’m determined to get to the truth. The two of you obviously need my help and advice but I’m tied if neither of you will be forthcoming with me.”

“Perhaps it’s none of your business” I retort. “Is this why you’ve switched houses? To get more information?” 

“You and Peeta are my business. Haymitch too. No one knows what it was really like, except us, and thankfully no one else ever will. We need to look out for each other. Something’s wrong between you and Peet and I’m obliged to at least try to help. As for why I’m here and not there; it’s partially to get more information, but also because I couldn’t stand another minute at Peeta’s house. You gave me the excuse. His wife is one of those perpetually cheerful types I can’t stand for more than five minutes. And that laugh!” Johanna pretends to shudder and I almost laugh too. “It’s miserable over there. Neither of them are happy, though they pretend they are. The tension was getting to me.”

I know I shouldn’t take the bait, but I do. “How are they miserable?”

Johanna’s lips curve in a smile that can only be described as smug. “I knew that would get your attention. They do all this touching stuff when they think you’re looking, but don’t when they think you’re not. It’s all for show. And they have separate rooms too. Peeta got up when he thought I was asleep to change rooms. Not only that, Lace doesn’t come home most week nights. The excuse is that she’s busy at work and it saves time to stay at the shop. But it’s not that far to walk from the Village to the town. Not if you’re eager to see your husband, that is.”

“Do they argue?”

“Nope,” says Johanna decidedly. “Not around me anyway. It’s all very civil. I don’t think they care enough to argue. And there’s one other thing. Rumours are circulating in the town that Lace and the tailor are very friendly. Apparently, they frequently visit each other’s shops and sometimes have lunch together.”

“If they were up to something, they wouldn’t be so open about it.” But then I think about Marius and me. To the casual eye we appeared to be nothing more than friends but we were up to something. “What does Peeta say about it?”

Johanna shrugs. “Nothing, I don’t think. I doubt he’s heard the rumours. Who’d tell him?” 

“No one, I guess. Look, this is probably just a temporary thing. I suppose there’s an adjustment period for most marriages. I’m sure they’ll be OK,” I say, trying to sound confident. I don’t know how to react to hearing Haymitch’s judgement confirmed. Am I happy to be vindicated? Or am I unhappy that Peeta is? All I know is that I feel disloyal about discussing Peeta behind his back. 

“Well, it’s easy to see you haven’t changed,” snorts Johanna. “The obvious can be staring you in the face, and you still don’t see it. That marriage won’t last another year. You should start making your plans now.”

“What plans?”

“To get Peeta back. It’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s what he wants. Every time your name comes up, this look of abject misery crosses his face. Oh, he quickly puts the mask up, but not quick enough. Lace would be a fool not to have noticed.”

“I’m not breaking up a marriage,” I say, indignantly. “If Peeta preferred me, he wouldn’t have married Lace. And who says I want him, anyway? I’ve made a very nice life for myself without Peeta in it.”

“So I’ve heard. A boyfriend, no less. But I’ve also heard he’s not around anymore. And who said anything about breaking up a marriage? All I’m suggesting is that when the time comes, you should be ready to make your move.”

“Like a vulture? Johanna, I appreciate you trying to help but there’s things you don’t know.” I hesitate for a moment before saying anymore, but then decide to throw caution to the wind. “Even if it were possible, something’s been broken. I don’t know if it can be fixed. And I’m not sure I want to try.”

“Then you really are brainless. After everything we’ve been through. After everything we’ve seen. And you still have this stupid romantic idea of a perfect love. Well, it doesn’t exist. If you are lucky to find something close to it, you grab it and hold it tight. So what if he’s fucked another woman? Haven’t you fucked another man?”

“Two men actually.” I don’t know why I want to boast about it. Maybe it’s memories of Johanna mocking me for my “purity.” But if Johanna thinks that Peeta having sex with Lace is what I’m upset about, she’s wrong. I’ve had great sex and I’ve had indifferent sex. But the mechanics are basically the same. What makes them different are the emotions involved. That’s how Peeta has betrayed me. He has given Lace emotions that should have come to me.

Johanna seems taken aback by my admission. When the subject turns to sex, Johanna forgets about everything else. 

“Two? Who was the second?” 

“Gale.”

“Gale! Tall, dark and handsome Gale? The so-called cousin?”

“The same. It was a one-night stand, actually. But yeah, we fucked.”

Johanna’s mouth is open. I’m enjoying this. And it’s such a welcome diversion from what we’d been discussing.

“Was it good?”

“It was incredible! Amazing! We fucked every way imaginable. I could barely walk the next day.”

“Lucky bitch,” says Johanna enviously. “I wouldn’t tell Peeta though.”

“Why should I tell him? It’s none of his business. Besides, he’d just have to accept it. Like I’d have to accept things about him.” But there is something in what Johanna says. Especially if hijacked Peeta is still under there somewhere. 

Before Johanna can go back to her interrogation, I bring up something as almost as interesting to her as sex. “If we want dinner, we’ll have to go out for it. There’s no food until I go shopping.” I rise from my chair and start to gather the cups. 

“Cool. We can go on a date. My treat. You can pay next time.” 

Half an hour later, we’re at the door, ready to leave. 

“Wait,” I say. I open the door carefully and scan the Village. There’s no one around. “We can go now.”

Johanna stares at me as if I’m mad. “What’s that all about? Fuckin’ hell! I’m needed more than I realised.”

I take Johanna to a steakhouse that Marius and I frequently went to. Not only are the steaks good, it has the added bonus of keeping Johanna occupied whiles she tackles the enormous T-bone on her plate. Even Johanna can’t talk and eat at the same time.

After a valiant effort, Johanna groans and pushes her plate away. 

“I can’t eat another bite.” She takes a sip from her wine glass and I can see by the gleam in her eye that she’s ready to start her questioning again.

“So where’s Gale now?”

“Ah Gale?” I reply. I expected her question to be about Peeta and me, so this takes me by surprise. “He’s in 2 mostly. He travels quite a lot though.”

“Have you finished with him? Would you mind if had a crack?” 

“No, I wouldn’t mind if you had a “crack”. Go with my blessing.” I hadn’t thought of it before, but Gale and Johanna might make a good pair. Johanna always did admire Gale, and Johanna, with her own pent-up rage, would understand Gale like few could. “His brother is studying forestry in 7. Gale probably goes to visit.” 

“Great, I’m sure our paths will cross then. Or I’ll make them cross. I always did like a tall tree to climb. “

I smile. “He’s certainly tall.” 

“Tell me about the boyfriend,” Johanna asks, settling back in her chair.

“He wasn’t really a boyfriend, whatever Peeta or Haymitch told you. He was from the Capitol before he moved to 2. He’s gone back to teach at a university there.” I don’t really want to talk to Johanna about Marius. She’s sure to put a salacious spin on it. 

“So, a friend you fuck, eh? It seems I’ve had a positive influence on you after all. There might even be hope for you.” 

“He was a very good friend who helped me through a difficult time and I’ll be forever grateful he was in my life. That’s all I’m going to say about him,” I say stiffly. 

Johanna suddenly leans forward, elbows on the table. “That’s perfect. Right there. That’s how you need to think of Lace. A good friend who helped Peeta in a particular period of his life, but wasn’t meant to be around for long. That’s how you’ll get over this bump.” 

“Bump?” My voice rises in agitation and catches the attention of other diners who peer curiously in our direction. I lower my voice before continuing. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me. I’ve had to watch Peeta all over Lace like a rash. I’ve had to watch him give the love he used to have for me to another woman. I’ve had to watch him get engaged to her. I’ve had to stand aside while he marries her. This isn’t a “bump”. It’s a mountain.”

Johanna considers at me for a long moment before speaking. “I had a fiancé once. His name was Jack. He was nineteen, just past reaping age. We planned to marry when I was too. When I was reaped I did everything I could to get back to him. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t enjoy sinking an axe into peoples’ skulls. When I won, stupid me thought we’d be able to live happily ever after on my Victors pension, in my shiny new Victors mansion. It was about two months later that I got a call from Snow to present myself in the Capitol to whore for him. I refused. Without any warning, he had my fiancé and family killed. It was made to look like an accident, but they were dead all the same. I would have fucked every man and woman in the Capitol if I had known what would happen to them. You’re no different to me. Snow tried to kill your fiancé. Not his body, but his mind. But he didn’t succeed. Everyday a little more of Peeta comes back. You have a second chance. If this were Jack, I’d take it in a heartbeat. Snow set out to destroy what you and Peeta have. If you let him, he wins. Believe me, this is no mountain. Death is the mountain. It’s a bump.”

I shouldn’t be surprised by what Johanna has told me. Haymitch’s family and girlfriend suffered the same fate. Anyone who defied the Capitol or made them look stupid was severely punished as a warning for others. It also explains Johanna’s brittle cynicism, her lack of close relationships and her open defiance of the Capitol. She had nothing to lose. 

“Johanna, I’m so sorry. I’ve wondered why you weren’t used as Finnick had been.”

There’s a flicker of pain in Johanna’s eyes before they harden again. “Well, we all have our sad stories. That’s one reason why we need to stick together. None of us need to say or pretend anything when we’re together. We just know.” 

Johanna’s right, of course. Victors do need to be supportive of each other. We’re all we’ve got when it comes to having someone who truly understands what it’s like. I’ve missed that closeness with Peeta. But the reality is that I haven’t had that since he was hijacked. The Peeta who returned was a stranger in that respect, and one who was determined to stay that way. 

“My relationship with Marius wasn’t the same as Peeta’s with Lace. I wasn’t in love with him and both of us knew the relationship wasn’t going to last. We didn’t make life plans together,” I reply, responding to Johanna’s earlier comment.

Johanna opens her mouth to argue but I get in first.

“If Peeta had died in the Capitol, he would have died my Peeta. Just as Jack died your Jack. I don’t know who this Peeta is. My Peeta wouldn’t have told me he didn’t love me anymore, and then date another girl. Let alone ask her to marry him – a lifetime commitment – “

“He was hijacked!” Johanna all but screeches in a frustrated undertone. “The whole point is that he wouldn’t have done those things if Snow hadn’t scrambled his brain with trackerjack venom.”

“Peeta was fully aware of what he was doing when he chose to go forward with the marriage to Lace. He chose Lace. That’s all there is to it.”

“He didn’t choose Lace. He chose to do what he thought was right. He actually went against his own inclinations.”

“And you know this, how?” 

Johanna casually shrugs one shoulder. “Peeta told Haymitch and Haymitch told me.”

“I thought you said Haymitch didn’t tell you anything about why we’re not together.”

“I lied,” says Johanna, unashamedly. “I wanted to hear your side of it first.”

I push my chair from the table and stand abruptly. I plant my hands on either side of it and stare fixedly into Johanna’s face. “This is none of anyone’s business. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

I don’t wait for the waiter to bring the check but march over to the front counter, not caring if Johanna follows me or who is watching. After I’ve paid, I jerk the door open and storm out. Johanna is right behind me and with a few quick steps is by my side.

“Haymitch thinks the hijacking suppressed all his romantic yearnings for you. But because Peeta still had them, he needed an object to project them onto. That’s where Lace comes in. Have you noticed how much Lace looks like Delly? Lace was safe and unthreatening because she reminded him of his childhood friend. But then his feelings for you started to re-emerge and Peeta panicked. Lace was on the crest of being on the way out when Peeta proposed, but once he had, it was too late to go back. He had to go through with it. In his eyes, he was still a hijacked mutt. Only a mutt would ask a girl to marry him and then dump her days before the wedding.” 

“It sounds like you and Haymitch have had a lot of fun playing amateur psychologist.”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Everdeen. You’re determined to hold onto your resentment, no matter what. It makes sense. Peeta was devoted to you to the point of obsession. I can’t think why he would be, but he was. All this Lace business is out of character. Just think about that. And that’s all I have to say on the subject”

Until next time. But at least until we arrive back at the Village and retire for the night, Johanna is true to her word. It’s only when I’m just about to succumb to sleep that I recall that Johanna was supposed to pay for the meal.


	7. Chapter 7

Johanna turns out to be a more congenial houseguest than I thought. She’s annoying and frustrating, but she’s also refreshingly upfront and takes no offense when I inevitably blow up when she takes it too far. 

When I collect my mail from the post office, I find the invitation to speak at the memorial service. It’s too late to respond, even if I want to. There’s also a slim rectangular package. A note with it tells me it’s from Marius. He writes “when you are missing me.” Inside is a cylindrical object, tapered at one end, with a kind of dial at the other. When turned, the whole device vibrates. Puzzled, I ask Johanna what it is, but she simply roars with laughter. She tells me I’ll work it out but to keep it in my bedroom in the meantime and maybe experiment a little. Suddenly it occurs to me what it’s used for. When I turn pink, Johanna laughs even harder. 

Johanna has so far kept her word and hasn’t tried to persuade me to give Peeta a second chance. However, it hasn’t stopped her from casually slipping in information about the goings on in the Mellark residence. I’ve learned that Haymitch and Lace have patched things up so that Haymitch is now welcome again in her house. The dinners are a thing of the past, though. Johanna reckons Lace tried to fill the gap I left when she and Peeta were first married, but she can’t be bothered anymore. Peeta is annoyed by all the dog hair Shep sheds around the house. Apparently, Lace doesn’t like to clean and most of the housework falls to Peeta. Peeta is also painting again.

“I thought he always had,” I say in response.

“Yeah, but it was flowers or leaves or shop signs. Now he paints his nightmares. Like he used to.”

That’s bad that Peeta’s having nightmares, but it’s good that his memories are returning. His paintings were powerful and disturbing, far removed from the pretty, but shallow, work he produced after the hijacking. 

If Johanna is disappointed there haven’t been occasions when all four of us get together, she hasn’t said anything. She visits the Mellarks regularly and sees Haymitch at all three houses. I was afraid that she and Haymitch would gang up on me about Peeta but they haven’t. My only concern is Johanna being as free with her information about me as she has about Peeta and Lace. I wouldn’t put it past Johanna to spread it around that my sex life is a night-in with a vibrating chunk of plastic. 

The memorial service is held about a week after Johanna moves into my guestroom. She plans on leaving for 7 the next day. Because it’s a public holiday there’s no school, but the children have been encouraged to attend the event and lessons have been tailored to teach the history behind it. 

Most of the activity is in the main square. A temporary stage has been set up in front of the new justice building. The speeches seem to drone on forever. Haymitch’s is the best of them. Short, but insightful. No one in all Panem understands the Games and the devastation they wrought better than him. Afterwards, I wander over to the remembrance wall. It was a huge effort by the council to have it finished in time. Not only does it list past tributes but the names of those who died the night the district was bombed. All records in 12 were destroyed, but the Capitol meticulously recorded the names of every one of their district slaves. From that, the victims’ names have been carefully immortalised onto a huge brass plaque that takes up almost one side of the justice building. 

I run my finger along the raised lettering to search out names that are familiar. There are comparatively not many Seam names, but a lot of merchant. Since the bombs were aimed at the town centre, it was possibly the only time when it was an advantage to be from the Seam. I find Delly’s parents and Madge and her family. My mother’s family, who I knew by name and sight only, are here. And the Mellarks: Bran, Mavis, Barley and Rye. Barley, the eldest son, had married and his wife had been expecting their first child. They are here too: Marigold and baby. 

“So many.” says a familiar voice close behind me.

I spin around and find Peeta at my shoulder. He leans in closer and points out “baby”. “He’d be four now if he had lived and I’d have a niece or nephew.” He straightens up and gives me a tentative smile. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, Peeta.” I search his face for any sign of anger or blame. If I hadn’t blown the force field Snow wouldn’t have retaliated. Peeta was hijacked to hate me for it. 

My apprehension must show on my face because he frowns slightly and says, “Snow killed them for no better reason than to show that he could. Thanks to you, we don’t live in that kind of world anymore.”

While I’m relieved Peeta doesn’t blame me, that isn’t correct either. “It’s thanks to a lot of people, including you. I was just a puppet, really.”

Peeta shakes his head. “Nothing could – “

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Lace interrupts whatever Peeta was about to say. She’s dressed in a green floral dress, her brown hair tied back with a green ribbon. She gives me a cursory glance. “Hi Katniss.” She turns from me and then addresses Peeta again.

“We’re all going for coffee and then on to Arthur’s place for a barbecue.” Lace indicates a small group of people standing about ten metres away. The tailor from 8 is amongst them. “Do you want to come?”

“Ah, no thanks. I think I’ll stick around here for a while longer. I’ll see you when you get home.” 

“Ok, I’ll see you later then.” Lace returns to her friends without a backwards glance. Whatever happened to the lingering looks, the caress on the cheek to mark her territory? I thought I was the big threat. Either she doesn’t consider me one anymore, or she doesn’t care. There’s a strange sort of apathy coming from Peeta too. 

As I watch Lace disappear into the crowd, I spy Johanna in animated discussion with Max. They seem on the verge of an argument. “I’d better be going – “ 

“How are you enjoying Johanna’s visit?” asks Peeta hurriedly.

I smile ruefully. “A mixed blessing. I’ll probably miss her once she’s gone, but for the most part I’m looking forward to it. A little Johanna goes a long way.” 

Peeta laughs. “Same here. Johanna lacks a . . . what’s the word? Filter? We’re used to it, but Lace didn’t know what to make of it.” His gaze turns to Johanna, who is now definitely arguing with Max. “Johanna has suffered more than nearly anyone. It’s hard to understand if you haven’t gone through it yourself.”

“It’s near impossible.” Lace has suffered hardship, but she came out with her family intact and enough money to make it through the war and start a business at the end of it. She hasn’t had to kill or be killed, or been burdened with the expectations of a nation. She hasn’t been tortured either. I wonder if Peeta also lists himself as someone Lace doesn’t understand. 

“I’ve been thinking of the nights on the train recently. The way we understood what the other was going through because we experienced the same thing,” he says. 

“You remember that?” 

“I remember a lot of things. Once the memories started coming, it was like a flood. I struggled to know what to with them at first but Dr Aurelius helped me. Katniss . . . I’ve done a lot of things I now regret. Especially in relation to you. I wonder if we could – “

“Hey you!” Johanna bounces over to Peeta to punch his arm. Turning to me she says, “That friend of yours is a grade A wanker. Thinks he’s nature’s gift to women. His little brother is pretty cute though. Too bad I leave in the morning.”

“I’m sure Milo will be very disappointed but I thought you had someone else in mind.” I reply. I hope that by reminding Johanna of Gale, she’ll leave Milo alone. I don’t want her causing discord between my co-workers. 

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. So, what are you doing for dinner, Peet?”

“Nothing planned. Lace is having dinner with friends, so I’m free.”

“Great! You can have dinner with us then. We’ll grab Haymitch on our way back to the Village. It will be just us Victors. How cosy.”

I feel Peeta eyes on me as if he’s trying to gauge my reaction. I keep my expression neutral although I’d love to send a death stare Johanna’s way. “That’s great. I bagged a wild turkey this morning. We can have that,” I say with forced enthusiasm. 

Johanna has a big smug smile on her face. And why shouldn’t she? She’s just got exactly what she wanted.   
____________________________________________________________________

For such short notice, the dinner is exceptionally delicious. The turkey is cooked to perfection. Johanna, who was responsible for the side dishes, has performed miracles from what I had in the fridge. In the time it takes to cook the turkey, Peeta produces an apple and goats cheese tart. Haymitch’s contribution is two bottles of fine red and a bottle of butterscotch liqueur. 

By the time the turkey is eaten, we’re all more than a little merry. We have a lot of collective memories to keep the conversation flowing freely and any awkwardness between Peeta and me is eased by the presence of Johanna and Haymitch.  
After we’ve had dessert, Haymitch pours out the butterscotch liqueur into shot glasses. There’s not many alcoholic drinks I like, but this goes down as smooth as silk. After one drink, I put out my glass for another. Johanna is already onto her fourth. Or maybe her fifth. Who’s counting?

“Remember when I stripped off in the elevator? We decided to test Miss Purity here to see if she was real. And she was! She didn’t know where to look,” Johanna cackles. She casts her eyes Peeta’s way. “You can’t laugh, Mellark. Your eyes were on stalks.” 

More laughter follows. Johanna makes a satisfied sweep of her audience. She’s really enjoying herself. “But she has improved considerably, thanks to my influence. Not only does she get sex toys in the mail from former lovers, she’s even had a one-night stand with an old flame. Could hardly walk the next day. I’m so proud of her.”

Peeta, who had been enjoying the hilarity at my expense, suddenly appears as sober as if he hadn’t taken a drink. 

“What old flame?” 

“Gale, of course. How many old flames has Miss Purity had?” 

A stunned silence comes over the company. Johanna’s laugh freezes on her lips as she registers the huge faux pas she’s just committed. Haymitch mumbles under his breath and downs the remainder of his drink. Peeta’s face is thunder. I want to die, but not until I’ve killed Johanna first. 

Johanna attempts to make light of it. “Of course, it was only that one night. Nothing serious. I even asked Katniss if it’s alright to have a crack at Gale myself and she said to go for it. It was just a fuck between old friends.”

No one says anything.

Johanna rises from the table unsteadily. “Well, I think I might go to bed now. It’s late and I’ve an early train to catch in the morning. It’s been great seeing you all again. Say goodbye to Lace for me, will you Peeta. See you in the morning, Katniss.” 

Johanna slinks off. Haymitch makes his excuses soon after and takes the bottle of butterscotch liqueur with him. I wish I could leave too, but it’s my house. 

Peeta explodes. “Of all people, why Gale?” 

I’m immediately on the defensive. “Why not Gale? I’m a free agent. I can be with anyone I choose. And might I remind you, we’re not together. You’re a married man.”

“That’s not the point. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you. Marius was one thing. I deserved that. You had to get on with your life. But Gale was just to get back at me.”

I hesitate at this. I did have sex with Gale mostly to spite Peeta. “Even if it was, what does it have to do with you? I’ve had to swallow whatever you and Lace did. What about that disgusting display on the night of the mayor’s party? I thought I had stumbled onto the slag heap.”

Peeta’s face turns red. “There’s an explanation for that. And you weren’t meant to see it.”

“And you weren’t meant to know about Gale,” I scream back at him. Peeta’s hypocrisy makes me see red. I want to throw in his face every time I’ve had to watch him flaunt his relationship with Lace. “What’s worse? Having sex to get back at someone or that someone having the hots for someone else?”

“That’s not what –“ Peeta begins. 

“And what about that filthy joke you made about sore jaws in front of me? I didn’t know what it meant then, but I do now. Is Lace a good cock sucker, is that it? Is that why you married her? So you can have your cock sucked every night?” 

“It was a joke!” Peeta takes a deep breath in an effort to speak in a calmer voice. “It didn’t mean we were doing it. And don’t talk about Lace and cock sucking. She deserves some respect.”

“A shame you didn’t respect her enough not to make that joke. My life is my business. I’m allowed to have a life outside of you. You assumed I didn’t want you. You told me you didn’t love me, and then you took up with Lace. And then somehow, it was my fault for not speaking up. But when I did, you went and married her anyway. I hadn’t been with anyone before that. I waited for you, hoping that you’d love me again, while you had your fun fucking Lace. You made your choice. So, you don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t have sex with it. You forfeited that right.” 

Peeta’s shoulders slump suddenly in defeat. “Look, you’re right, I don’t have any claims on you. And I don’t have a right to be jealous either. But I am. I can’t help it. The truth is, the past year has been nothing but one regret after another. For Lace too, if she’s honest. The only thing keeping us together is that neither of us wants to admit we made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing for everyone when I married her. I’d given my word, and that was the only thing in all the confusion that I was sure of. You can understand that, can’t you?”

I shake my head. If he wants absolution from me, he’s not going to get it. 

“What I see is that you didn’t love me enough.” 

I have this sudden urge to cry. Tears start to pool and I blink rapidly to stave them off. “We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. For good or bad, you’re married. And it’s a fact we both have to live with.” 

“Katniss . . .” Peeta calls after me. But I’m already halfway up the stairs and I ignore him. He can see himself out. On the way to my room, I pass by Johanna’s door. The door is ajar. She’s been listening in. I grab the door knob and yank the door shut with a bang. Whoever said that fish and houseguests stink after three days was right.  
______________________________________________________________________

Johanna and I avoid saying anything about what happened the night before. I can tell from Johanna’s subdued demeanour that she’s embarrassed about it. Or maybe it’s just a hangover. It’s hard to tell. I’ve had time to cool down, and although having my sex life put on display was mortifying, the argument that followed with Peeta was surprisingly cathartic. I’d repressed a lot of the hurt and anger of witnessing Peeta’s sometimes overt courtship of Lace. Instead, I had chosen to tell myself it was necessary for Peeta’s recovery. Many times, I’ve chided myself for being selfish. It’s rare that I can look back and chide myself for not being selfish enough.

And there was something about Peeta’s jealousy that pleased me too. I know I should be mad about it. He has no right to be jealous, let alone be angry with me about it. But the knowledge that he still cares fills me with joy. There’s no other word for it. Which is both stupid and irritating. Stupid because he’s married. Irritating because it means I’m not as over him as I hoped. I need to get back into my town house and the routine of work as soon as possible. 

I walk with Johanna to the train station. To get there, we have to go through the town. As we pass by a café, we see Lace and the tailor by the window having breakfast together. 

Before Johanna can open her mouth, I quickly say, “It doesn’t mean anything. If they were having an affair they wouldn’t be in a café in broad daylight for everyone to see.”

“No, but it does mean Lace didn’t go home last night. They look awfully cosy together, don’t you think?”

I shrug my shoulders in apparent disinterest. But they do have an obvious rapport, the way they mirror each other’s posture and are so engrossed in what the other has to say.

“They’re from the same district and they’re in the same business. They’d have a lot in common,” is all I say.

Johanna gives me a long disbelieving look and sighs.

We say our goodbyes at the station. Just before Johanna boards the train, she can’t resist giving me one last piece of unsolicited advice. “You need to listen more and talk less.” 

I stay until the train disappears from sight. “Listen more and talk less.” Good advice for anyone, I suppose. And after last night, I hope Johanna heeds it too.

____________________________________________________________________

Life is a little duller without Johanna around, but certainly more restful. Summer days pass into autumn and then into winter. I move back into my town house. It turned out that Village life wasn’t as bad as it used to be, though. I gave up my habit of checking to see if Lace or Peeta were about before venturing out. Lace was seldom seen anyway. Peeta continued to tend the primrose bushes. I said nothing because I didn’t want to appear as if I cared either way. We didn’t socialise, although sometimes I caught Peeta watching me, as if he were waiting for something. After our argument, something has shifted. It’s as if that moment of laying ourselves bare has opened a door. Just the smallest crack, but no longer locked shut. 

I spend my work days at the school, involved as much as ever. I hunt on the weekends and occasionally go out. I miss Marius, but Max has helped fill the gap. I’m careful that nothing can be construed as more than friendship but I get the feeling that Max has moved on from me, anyway. He seems to have short term relationships that sour quickly. Sometimes I think Max is Marius without the success. And, like Marius, he’s a great sounding board and I’ve confided in him a little. Max was an avid fan of the Mockingjay, but not of Peeta, whom he regards with suspicion. Consequently, he invariably takes my side. It’s gratifying, but not always balanced. But after the confrontational style of Johanna, I’ll take it. 

The winter is a harsh one and often the school is closed due to storms or extreme cold. This is when I miss my house in the Village. The smaller town house feels close and confining. But at least it’s easier to keep warm and Buttercup and I spend many an evening with him on my lap and a book in my hand. I also work on the memory book. On thick parchment I ordered from the Capitol, I carefully transcribe in my best handwriting a brief bio of the person I want remembered as well as some personal details. I’ve obtained some photos from the Capitol archives, but for many I have only my memory. Not for the first time, I wish I could draw. Peeta could do it. I wonder what he’s doing when he’s confined to his house while the blizzards rage around it. Is he snug inside with Lace, or lonely while Lace stays in her shop? Or even lonely with Lace there? They were friends foremost, so maybe they still get along. I’m afraid to take too much heed of reports of marital discord from Haymitch and Johanna. No hope is better than crushed hope, and it’s going to take more than their say-so for me to believe it. 

Eventually winter ends and the first buds of spring emerge. This is my favourite time of the year. For the pre-Games Katniss it meant an end to hunger and plenty to eat in the coming months. For the older Katniss, it’s the promise of new beginnings, of better times just around the corner.

One bright, beautiful spring day, I have a successful haul of three fat rabbits and two wild turkeys. At a small table on my back porch, I pluck, and skin and disembowel. It’s messy but I try to work neatly. Feathers in one pile, rabbit pelts on another, and entrails on yet another. I’m deep in concentration when there’s a tentative, but then determined, knock on my front door. My first instinct is to ignore it. But whoever is knocking isn’t giving up. I wipe my hands on a towel, getting most of the blood off. The rabbit I’m in the middle of gutting will have to wait. Annoyed at being interrupted, I open the door scowling. Lace’s eyes go from my face to my bloody hands in rapid succession as if she can’t work out which she should be more afraid of. 

“Lace,” I say when there’s no response from her. “What can I do for you?”

Lace takes a nervous step forwards. “Hi Katniss, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wonder if I could talk to you. It’s about Peeta.”

“Is he alright?” I burst out, in sudden fear that something bad has happened to him. It’s the only reason I can think of for why Lace would visit. Even then, I think it would be left to Haymitch.

“Yes, he’s fine,” Lace says quickly. “It’s about something else. Do you . . . do you think I could come in?”

No, is what I want to say. But if it’s about Peeta, I should hear her out. I open the door and let her in. I feel at a distinct disadvantage. Lace is dressed in a tailored blue jacket with matching trousers. Her mahogany, no brown, hair is neatly styled. I’m in my old hunting clothes, my hair had been braided in haste, and my hands are filthy. 

“Make yourself comfortable while I take care of this,” I say as I hold up my hands. When I return, Lace is seated on the couch, her hands clasped in her lap. I take the chair opposite. 

“What’s up with Peeta?” There’s no point in niceties. I doubt Lace is here for a social call.

Indeed, Lace appears to be all business. Some instinct tells me that this is truer to her character than her usual cloying sweetness and pearly laugh. She’s also probably worked out that it doesn’t work on me anyway. 

“I’ll get straight to it. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Peeta and I have separated, with a view to divorce.”

“Oh.” It’s a moronic answer, but the only one I’m capable of at the moment. This shouldn’t be a surprise, not after everything I’ve been told, yet it is. I don’t know what to feel. Anger, that all the pain has been for naught? Hope, that there’s a chance now for Peeta and me? Vindication, that I was right about this relationship all along? Or sadness, that it’s all too late? 

“It was a mutual decision,” continues Lace, when there’s nothing forthcoming from me. “The marriage hasn’t been working for a long time.” 

“Okaaay,” I say slowly. I’m confused why Lace has come here to tell me this. We’ve never been friends. If she wanted someone to confide in, I’m a strange choice. “I’m sorry, I guess.” It seems the standard thing to say about a marriage breakup. “But why are you announcing it to me?”

“To let you know that you and Peeta can be together now,” says Lace, as if the answer should be obvious.

“What? Wait, why do you think Peeta and I want to be together? Does Peeta even know you’re here?”

“No, and he’d hate it if he did. This was my idea,” Lace replies. “He thinks he’s ruined everything and doesn’t have any rights as far as you’re concerned. That’s why I’m here. To tell you that if you want him, you’ll have to make the first move.”

I stare at her open mouthed. Her audacity leaves me speechless. She’s the reason why Peeta and I aren’t together. And then she just waltzes in and says “I’m finished with him, you can have him now.” I’m sure Peeta was a challenge with his ongoing problems, but she took it on. She just can’t bail on him like that. 

“So now that you’re finished with him, you want me to take up the slack, is that it?”

“It’s not like that. It’s not about taking up any slack. I told you. The break-up was mutual. He didn’t want to stay in the marriage any more than I did. We want different things. I want to live in the town, develop a business and see how big I can make it. It’s why I came to 12. Peeta doesn’t want any of that. He wants a quiet life . . . and you.”

“And Peeta told you this?” I ask sceptically. Somehow, I can’t see Peeta confessing love of me to Lace if he could avoid it. 

“Yes, he did,” says Lace empathically. “I confronted him and he didn’t deny it. I think I always knew that he did. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Well, he certainly gave a good performance of being in love with you if he was supposedly in love with me all this time.” 

Lace doesn’t respond. I suppose there’s nothing for her to deny. He fooled us both, if what she says is true. 

I ask a question I’ve long been curious about. “What did he tell you about us? When you first met, I mean.”

“He told me that you’d never been in love with him. That it was all for the cameras. As for him, it had been illusion on his part.”

“And you believed him, even though he didn’t have his memories?” 

“I had doubts. But then I thought, if he still loved you, why was he so attentive to me? And when he asked me to marry him, it pretty much confirmed it for me. For a while, anyway,” Lace replies, looking down on her hands.”

“Whether he loved me or not isn’t the point. The fact of the matter is, he chose you. And that’s what he has to live with.” I remember our last conversation, when I told him the very same thing. 

Lace gives me a long look before she replies. “That’s what he said. That he has to live with it. But I don’t see why. He wants you and I think you want him. I suspect it’s why you didn’t come to the wedding, or have anything to do with him once we were married. Maybe it’s why you moved out of the Village and got involved with Marius.”

“Maybe I did those things because I was done with him. Did you ever think of that?”

Lace appears taken aback. I don’t think the possibility had occurred to her. “But you still must have had feelings for him. You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to avoid him if you didn’t.”

I shrug and try to keep my face impassive. Lace is uncomfortably close to the truth. “There could have been a lot of reasons. I just wonder why you should care now. You didn’t before. What’s it to you if we’re together?” 

“Just because our marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to him,” Lace replies. “I know that if it weren’t for me, he’d probably be with you. And you can give him something I never could, although I tried. When Peeta dislocated his shoulder, I saw the two of you on your front porch the next morning. You understand him, and Peeta knows it.”

“I see,” I reply, although I don’t really. Lace’s words sound reasonable, but they’re off somehow. It’s all so . . .convenient. Convenient for Lace, that is. Where was this two, three years ago? 

An image of two heads leaning towards each over a café breakfast flashes in front of me. 

“Nice suit. There’s a difference between a tailor and a seamstress, isn’t there?” I’m familiar with Lace’s work and I’m sure she didn’t make the suit she’s wearing. But I have seen tailoring like this before.

Lace’s fair skin turns pink. “There’s some overlap. But if you’re implying that the gossips are right, and I’m having an affair with Arthur, nothing could be further from the truth. He’s not the reason Peeta and I broke up.”

“I believe you. More than most, I know how a friendship can be made to be more than it is,” I say, thinking of Gale. “I also know there’s more than one way to have an affair.”

Lace opens her mouth to argue, but I quickly cut her off. “I think what you really want is to feel better about yourself. You feel bad that you got between Peeta and me, now that you don’t want him anymore. If we got back together, you could tell yourself there was no harm done.”

Lace flushes with anger. “That’s not fair. It’s not like this is all on me. You had years to tell him how you felt. As for him, he had choices too. I wouldn’t mind betting that the two of you used me as part of his recovery. But then it went too far, didn’t it? He wasn’t meant to fall in love and propose marriage. That wasn’t part of the plan. And what about all those false beliefs that I didn’t know about? No one warned me. And what about Peeta? Did anyone step in and warn him?”

I hesitate for the briefest moment, but just long enough for Lace to realise she had made a point. I had stood back and let it happen in the belief that Lace was what he needed and she’d later be discarded. But then what could I have done? Every criticism, every objection, was met with defensiveness on Peeta’s part. And would Lace have really listened to me, or dismissed it as possessiveness or jealousy? Although my motives weren’t entirely noble, it was also true that my hands were tied. However, Lace is hardly a victim, as much as she’d like to see herself as one. Unlike Peeta, her brain wasn’t muddled by distorted or missing memories. 

I barrel on. “Of course, Peeta was warned. As much as you can warn someone and still respect their right to live their life as they choose. But whether he was or not, nothing negates your part in it. You admit to having doubts, but you took the risk anyway. And it wasn’t just a risk for yourself, but for a man who had lost his memories and could regain them at any time. You watched the Games. Even Snow was convinced our romance was real. That’s why Peeta was conditioned to hate and distrust me. But you chose to accept everything he said at face value anyway, because it suited you to. And then you accepted his marriage proposal when he was in no fit state to offer one.”

“I accepted because I loved him,” says Lace icily.

“I’m sure you did. But not enough to put aside your own wants and do what was best for him. Not enough to stick it out when it got hard.”

“What about you? What kind of friend were you when you cut him out of your life because he chose to marry someone else? You didn’t stick around when it got hard.”

“I did what I had to, to survive. Right up until the wedding, I was supporting him, being there for him, even though it was killing me to see him with you. And you resented me for it. I remember the filthy looks you gave me when Peeta dislocated his shoulder. But when you married him, you took on that role. You made a promise. It was your job to take care of him.”

“And another thing.” I can’t seem to stop. It’s like lancing an abscess. “I don’t think you’re nearly as nice as you appear to be with your simpering smile and pearly laugh. I think underneath is someone who is manipulative and doesn’t scruple to get what she wants.”

Lace stands abruptly. Her effort to stay calm is plain to see. “Toy with me as much as you like. I don’t really care. I’m here for Peeta. Are you going to see him or not? Aren’t you supposed to protect one another?”

“Don’t you dare throw that at me. You knew I loved Peeta, and I would have gone on protecting him for the rest of my life if I could. But when he married you, he chose you to be his support, and you chose to be his. You don’t get to pass it back because it didn’t work out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something when you arrived. You know where the door is.”

I take refuge in the kitchen until I hear the front door open and then click shut. My legs feel weak and shaky and I lean against the wall for support. My mind is reeling. There’s so much to take in, that it will take days to process. But the overwhelming thought, the one that dominates all others, is that Peeta is free. What that means to me, what it means to us, I have no idea. 

When I at last return to my back porch to finish the task I’d started, I find everything buzzing with flies. With all the distraction, I hadn’t thought to excuse myself to put the game in a safe place. I’ll have to toss the lot. If only I could so easily toss the dilemma that faces me.   
___________________________________________________________________

It’s nearly a week before I visit Peeta. I had spent these past days in an agony of indecision. I even made a list of pros and cons. Not surprisingly, the cons outweighed the pros. I’ve made a life for myself, a good life, without Peeta. I’ve proven to myself that I can have other relationships and that I can find purpose in other things. Most of all, I proved that I can survive without him. But I’m also forced to admit that I haven’t been completely happy in a long time, and I can’t escape the feeling that Peeta is somehow connected with it. Moreover, I’m afraid of falling back in love with him and being back to where I started. 

What finally tips it over is the memory of what I said to Peeta the day he tried to tend my primrose bushes and I told him not to. I said that I’ll always be his friend, someone he can count on if he ever needs help. I don’t actually know that he does need help, but I feel obliged to at least check. A marriage break-up is traumatic whatever the circumstances. After a lot of soul searching, I eventually decide to be a friend if he needs one. But that is all.   
The Village seems deserted as I pass through the gates. There’s no Shep to bark his announcement that a visitor has arrived, although the dog run is still there. Haymitch’s yard is as neglected as ever. My house has an air of abandonment about it too except for the pristine perfection of the primrose bushes along one side of it. Across the street, Peeta’s house stands out in stark contrast. The lawn is manicured to an inch of its life. There’s new plantings in ordered rows. Not one weed or stray leaf mars the freshly churned soil surrounding them. 

I knock nervously at Peeta’s front door. The brass knocker gleams in the sunlight and there’s not a speck of dust on the polished tiles. Peeta has always been a neat freak, but this is ridiculous. I remember discussing symptoms of depression with Dr Aurelius. Some people sit in a chair all day and let their hair mat, others exhibit obsessive behaviour. 

After what appears mere seconds, the door opens. Peeta looks awful. He’s lost weight and, from the dark circles beneath his eyes, it’s clear he hasn’t been sleeping. But the smile on his face is beatific. If I had any doubts about my welcome, they instantly vanish.

“Katniss. How good it is to see you. Please, come in.” 

Inside, not a cushion is out of place. I’m almost afraid to sit in case I mess it up. 

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Hot chocolate? Water? I don’t have any cheese buns, but I think there’s some fruit cake – “

“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t want anything. I came because . . .” Here I stop and look around the room in a desperate search for inspiration for my being here. I hadn’t thought about what I would say when we were actually face to face. Somewhat incongruously, I think about Peeta on the train after Dr Aurelius released him from the Capitol. Did he spend the journey thinking about what opening he should use when he saw me again? Is that when he thought of the primrose bushes? 

Suddenly, inspiration comes to me. 

“I came because I have a favour to ask. I’m working on a book, similar to my family’s plant book. It’s about the people we’ve lost. It’s to remember them by. I have photos for some of them but others, like Darius and Boggs, I don’t have anything. But now that you have your memories back, I was wondering if you’d like to help. Not just with drawings but with what you remember about them too. If you want to, that is.” 

“I’d love to. When?”

“Um, tomorrow evening? If you come early, I can make us something to eat.”   
“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say, as I rise from the chair. 

I make my way towards the door, but as I reach for the knob, Peeta calls me back. 

“Katniss.”

I turn to face him. I see gratitude mixed with something else. Love? I give myself a shake. That’s not what I want to be thinking of. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

I nod and give him a brief smile. And then I’m outside in the bright spring sunshine again.


	8. Chapter 8

I resist the urge to moan as I taste my first cheese bun in nearly two years. I had forgotten how much I love them. They go so well with the rabbit stew I made for dinner too. Peeta watches my reaction as I bite into one. I wonder if he remembers the significance of cheese buns and working together on my father’s plant book. If he has all his memories back, he should. 

We sit at my small dining table, in my small living cum dining room, in my small house and I almost have to pinch myself at the strange sight of Peeta sitting opposite. I had thought I had finished with any kind of relationship with him, and yet here he is. In some strange way, I feel transported back to the times before the Quell. For I see Peeta, my Peeta, as he was before he was snatched from the arena and had his mind jumbled with trackerjacker venom. I see the same steadfastness, the same candour, the same affectionate way he once looked at me. Not that I trust it. I had been fooled into thinking he was back before, only to see him disappear again into the Peeta-look-alike that returned from the Capitol. Yet something has changed, and the transformation has clearly been a painful process. He looks older, and there’s a weariness about the eyes. He looks better than he did yesterday though. He must have got some half-way decent sleep last night. 

After dinner, we clear the table and I spread out what I’ve done on the memory book so far. It’s nothing more than a collection of half-completed pages that will be bound into a book when it’s finished. 

“Do you have any kind of plan for how you approach this?” asks Peeta, as he sorts through them. 

“Not really. I guess I’ve been rather haphazard about it. But maybe some kind of system or order would make it easier. What about an inside out approach? We start with family and then work outwards?” 

“That could work,” says Peeta, with a smile. “Let’s start with Prim.”

We both lean over to study the page I started for her. A photo is taped loosely in one corner and I’ve written down my most treasured memories. The story about how she came to be Lady’s owner is my favourite and I’d love to have a picture of it. 

“Do you think you could you draw a picture of Prim with Lady licking her face?” I ask, as I turn my head in his direction. It’s then I realise how close his face is to mine, and this causes me to withdraw slightly. I hope Peeta doesn’t notice, but I guess from his slight frown and the way he quickly turns his face away that he does. 

“Yeah, of course,” he replies. 

We find some scrap paper and Peeta’s deft hand blocks out a design in less than a minute. He’s even included a ribbon around Lady’s neck.

“That’s wonderful. It’s just what I want. And you remembered about the ribbon too. I didn’t think you would.”

“The time we spent together in the cave is among my favourite memories, even though the situation we were in was the worst you could imagine.” He shakes his head in regret. “I should never have given up the fight to get them back.”

“Why did you?” I ask. This has long puzzled me. “On the way to the Capitol to kill Snow, you seem determined. We played the “real, not real” game. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember. I guess the bad memories became overwhelming, and my mind went into some kind of protection mode and blocked everything out. Even the good stuff. I’ve really made a huge mess of things.”

I don’t know how to respond. Peeta has made a mess of things, there’s no denying that. But at the same time, it seems insensitive to reiterate it. But I don’t want to say it was OK either. His mind might have blocked the memories, but Peeta made a conscious decision to maintain the status quo. And with that, he turned his back on my history with him, along with his with me. 

“Well, you remember it now . . .” I say, trailing off. It’s a nothing response, but Peeta seems to like it. His face lights up in a slight smile. 

“Yeah, I remember it now.” He clears his throat and reaches for Prim’s page. “Where would like the drawing to be?” 

When Prim’s page is complete, we finish for the night. But before he leaves, we arrange to meet again a week from now. I think if I wanted to, Peeta would have agreed to meeting every night but I am determined to be a friend, not a crutch to replace Lace. Besides, I have a full workload with the school. There’s talk of another fundraiser, for play equipment this time. I hope they decide on something simple – like a raffle or a fete. 

Over the following weeks, we work on Peeta’s family. There’s four pages to do. One each for Bran, Mavis, Barley and Rye. We start with his brothers. It seems his relationship with them was far less complicated, and the ideas flow smoothly. Barley was the older, responsible one who was destined to inherit the bakery. Barley and Peeta weren’t close but it was an easy, non-rancorous relationship. With Rye it was different. They played and fought with equal fervour. Extremely competitive with each other, Peeta had been determined to beat Rye in the wrestling championship the year he was reaped for the Games. Peeta credits Rye with giving him the impetus to excel in whatever he did, from wrestling to cake decorating, if only to be better at it than him. 

When we get to Peeta’s parents, he becomes more thoughtful. I know what I’d write about them. Peeta’s father was a kind man who liked squirrel and traded fairly. Peeta’s mother was a witch who beat her youngest son and disapproved of anyone from the Seam. But since this is his family, and it’s about his memories, I keep my mouth shut. 

I wait with pencil poised for Peeta to begin, but he seems to be having difficulty. 

“Are you having trouble remembering?” I ask. 

Peeta shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that if we were making this book five years ago, I’d have no trouble sorting out what to put in, and what to leave out. But with what’s happened since, it’s like I have a new perspective on it. It’s weird because I always identified with my father, but lately I feel more of a kinship with my mother, even though I’ve had ambivalent feelings about her most of my life. Does this make sense to you?”

“Yes, it does. I always thought I was like my father, with hardly anything of my mother in me. I look like him and like the same things as him. But then, when I became depressed after Prim died, I realised I was like my mother. And I didn’t want to be.”

“Then you’ll know what I mean. By the way, you’re a combination of both. You actually look more like your mother. You just have your father’s colouring. And the way you instinctively care for others, that comes from your mother. But your love of the outdoors and your beautiful singing voice are from your father. I fell in love when I heard you sing.”

A small frisson of excitement surges through me at Peeta’s last statement. I quickly stomp it down. I already know the story about how Peeta was a “goner” after hearing me sing. It didn’t last, and that’s an end to it. I choose to ignore it, and focus my attention back to the subject at hand.

“So what made you feel like you have more in common with your mother?” 

“It’s not so much having something in common, it’s more like having a new understanding. Growing up, and what I saw of their relationship, I always thought it was my mother at fault. She was a disciplinarian, and not the warmest of people. She was curt with my father, and he just took it, and didn’t answer back. But he got back at her. My father would have married your mother if he could, and my mother knew it. It never occurred to me that when I repeated the story my father told me of how your mother came to marry your father, that the whole of Panem would now know that she had been second choice. And that her loving husband had chosen to tell her small son how he’d preferred another woman to herself. 

“He’d also undermine her when it came to discipline. She’d tell me to go bed, and he’ll tell me I could stay up, so naturally I listened to him. What I didn’t realise, was that he was using me to get back at her. I thought he was wonderful, but it made her into the bad guy. Eventually, she took it out on me. I’m not saying she was justified, but he wasn’t guilt free in this. And he knew about the beatings, but he turned a blind eye because it was easier.”

All of this is said without any trace of self-pity. My heart goes out to him. His home life was much worse than I thought. I imagined that he had one parent in his corner, at least. 

“Peeta, that’s awful. But, I still don’t – “ I begin. 

“I was afraid of being like her. I saw what being second choice had done to her. How it corroded and wore away at her. How it turned her into something she really wasn’t”

Peeta is talking about his childhood, but I get the feeling there’s more to it than that. It’s also about what he was forced to do in the Games, when he was hijacked, and maybe even beyond that. I want to reassure him that that’s not who he really is. “You’d never be like that. You couldn’t be. You’re the best person I know. Haymitch agrees with me. He told me I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve you.”

Peeta breaks out of his reverie at this. “He told you, what? What a load of rubbish. You’re too damn good for me, if anything. Anyway, it was my father I turned into. It’s just . . . how do you tease out the good memories, when they’re covered with so much crap?” 

“Um, I guess you search for the memories that are separate from them. Like how your mother won the preserves category every year at the Harvest Festival. Or how your father gave cookies to the children who were reaped. Things like that,” I say, smiling at him. 

“Hmm. You know this memory book is proving to be cleansing in a lot of ways. It’s like sifting out the wheat from the chaff.”

“Trust a baker to come up with that analogy. But yeah, it’s not what I was thinking when I came up with the idea, but it’s turned out like that.” 

“I love that we can have these conversations. I’ve missed having someone I can really talk to.”

He’s thinking of Lace. I don’t like being reminded of how close they were. It’s not that I care anymore, but it was a painful period in my life. I try for nonchalance. “I’m sure Lace misses it too. Having someone she can talk to.”

To my surprise, Peeta simply shrugs. “She’s got Arthur now for this sort of thing. We never had conversations like this anyway. Mostly we told the other what they wanted to hear. I think the only real honest conversation we had was our last one.”

“Oh, I thought . . .” I imagined they had been in simpatico with each other. From swimming pools, to ice-cream, to jigsaw puzzles. They were even from the same social class, or close to it. Peeta was ex-merchant, and Lace was aspiring merchant. 

“I didn’t have my memories for a lot of the time we were together, so even if I was honest with her, it wasn’t always based on fact,” continues Peeta, as if I hadn’t spoken. “And, I’m ashamed to say, if I couldn’t remember, I’d sometimes make it up.”

“Like your memories of our relationship?” I say, without thinking. I instantly wish I could take it back. I don’t want to get into a discussion with Peeta about Lace’s visit. 

Peeta looks at me in surprise. “Exactly, but what made you think of that?”

“Oh, no particular reason. I just figured you must have told Lace something to put her mind at ease so she’d agree to go out with you,” I counter quickly. 

My answer seems to satisfy him, for he nods. “If I could trace all that happened to a single moment, that would be it. If I had been honest and said, “I don’t know” and took the trouble to find out, it could have saved us all a lot of trouble and heartache.”

I take pause at this. Peeta had kind of asked me. It’s just that it was framed in a way that presumed to already know the answer. I just didn’t deny it. But by then he’d already told me he didn’t love me anymore, so how could I have known that’s what he wanted me to do? There’s also another problem.

“But what if you had known? If your inclination was to be with Lace, how would knowing about our past have changed things? You’d still have been attracted to Lace, and not me.” A bitter edge has crept into my voice. I’m irritated by it. I don’t want to sound like I care. 

Peeta regards me with dismay. “It wasn’t like that. It’s like . . . it’s like there was a fork in the road and I had to decide which direction to take. One was dark and full of fearful, unknown things, and the other was empty but bright, and without fear. If I’d known I’d find you at the end of the dark road, I’d have taken that without a moment’s hesitation. But I thought that was impossible, so instead of risking the dark, I chose the light instead.” 

Great. Peeta lumped me with the dark things, and Lace with the light. But then, to be fair, there was a history attached to me that was very black in places. If I could erase parts of my memory, I would. It haunts my dreams nearly every night. I glance up at Peeta. He’s watching me, waiting for a reaction. Some stubborn part of me refuses to give him one. I’m not ready for this. I don’t know how we got to be talking about it. 

“What other things did you make up?” I ask, in an attempt to steer the conversation to a more comfortable place. “Was it just you?”

“Ah, no,” he replies, taken aback. “I guess a good example would be the time we made our life plans. We actually didn’t have any when Haymitch asked about it. I don’t think we looked much beyond the wedding. So, I talked to Lace when I saw her next to come up with some. We decided she was going to work from home while looking after our five children. And I was to start a bakery.”

It takes a full ten seconds for that to sink in. “Five! But . . . didn’t you say that Lace was proud of her shop and, not only wouldn’t people come out to the Village to buy clothes, there was nowhere to do it anyway? So how does that fit in with five kids and working from home?”

“It doesn’t,” says Peeta bluntly. “And you can see how it worked out. Lace told me what she thought I wanted to hear. She might have meant it in the moment, but clearly there wasn’t a lot of thought behind it.” 

“Whose idea was it to have five children?” Of all their plans, this seems the most off kilter. And, if I’m being honest with myself, the one that would prove an obstacle if Peeta and I were together. 

“Mine. And the thing is, I don’t really want five children. Maybe I was hoping to put Lace off, because someone would have to stay home to look after them. Most likely her since I was going to run a bakery. But she agreed to it. And I had no choice but to go along with it and tell myself it’s what I wanted for myself.”

What Peeta is telling me is so screwed up. I guess Lace must have really loved him. Or loved the idea of getting married. I remember her excitement about the wedding dress and how she tried to recruit me into helping with the arrangements. Peeta spent a fortune on it. Perhaps he liked the idea of marriage and a wedding rather that actually being married too. 

“What about the bakery? It sounds like something you’d do. I actually wondered why you hadn’t, since you like to bake so much. I thought it might be because you had no money left after the wedding. Marius said it costs a lot to set up a business.”

Peeta’s jaw momentarily tightens at the mention of Marius. “You’re both right. It does take a lot of money and my savings were depleted after the wedding, but it’s not why I didn’t open one. It’s because I didn’t want to. I enjoy baking, but that doesn’t mean I want to be a baker. The hours, working with hot ovens over summer – not fun.” 

“Yeah, I can see that. Sometimes why you enjoy what you do, is because you don’t have to do it.” I think of the contrast between singing karaoke at a pub and singing on stage in front of an audience. Same action, different context. 

“But what about your painting? I mean, you do it anyway. Johanna told me you’ve started painting your experiences from the Games and your time in the Capitol. From a historical perspective, that makes it valuable in itself. You’re the only person who can record it like that first-hand. And that’s before we even start on artistic merit. And there’s these portraits you do too,” I say, as I sweep my hand over the pages strewn across the table. 

Peeta rubs his jaw as he contemplates the idea. “Yeah, maybe. I might as well earn income from it. I’ll soon have to move into a bigger house to store the canvases if I don’t do something with them. I’ll think about it.”

“Well, I think you’re wasted on shop signs.” I retrieve my pencil and pull my notebook towards me to signal that we should get back to work. Peeta follows suit and I breathe more comfortably. It was getting dangerously close to exposing emotions I’ve long since dealt with and packed away. I’ll have to watch that.  
______________________________________________________________________  
I find a small perfectly symmetrical pinecone near the base of a tree and toss it into the sack with the others. The sack is full after nearly an hour of picking through fallen cones to find those of the right size and shape to satisfy Moira’s exacting standards.

“I think we have enough now, Max. Moira should be happy with these. You could make a whole zoo-full of animals from that lot.”

Max makes a show of painfully straightening his back. He’s exaggerating, but not too much. My own back welcomes the rest from the constant bending. Moira has it in her head to have her students make pine cone animals as art projects. Apparently, Max owed her a favour, and his payment was to collect the cones. And because he had no idea where to find them, I was roped in to help. My reward has been to listen to Max whinge about his latest romantic disaster. I suspect his love of teasing is behind it. He needs someone who refuses to rise to the bait or, better still, returns it in equal measure. I can see him happily living with someone who teases him mercilessly, as he teases her, with everyone thinking they must be the most antagonistic couple ever, but in reality, there’s great love. But where to find such a woman? 

However, Max’s love life isn’t my priority at the moment. “Do you mind if we do a short detour on the way back? There’s a patch of wild strawberries that should have ripened by now. I want to have them with dinner.”

Max binds the top of the sack with a length of twine and then hoists it over his back. “Lead on,” he says, as he gestures to me get in front of him. “I suppose I owe you for helping me with the cones although the pleasure of my company should be more than enough to recompense anyone.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But you forget, I’m also here to protect you from any marauding beasts that fancy annoying man for dinner,” I counter, shaking my bow at him. 

Max puts up a warning hand. “Watch where you point that thing. It’s liable to go off. You might have got away with killing a president, but you’ll find that it’s a far more serious matter to kill me.”

“You need to put an arrow in it first, but if I ever did decide to send one your way, there’s plenty of places around here to hide the body. I know this part of the woods like the back of my hand.” 

“Ooh, I’m so scared. No, really, I am. You’ll kill me for my pinecones. And then make up a story that I was kidnapped by a female bear that keeps me hidden in a cave as her personal sex slave.”

“Poor bear,” I say, in mock sympathy as I step over a branch that has fallen across the path. “She’ll realise her mistake soon enough. But if she doesn’t, because she’s a particularly stupid bear, you can always wait until winter to make your escape. She’ll have to hibernate eventually. Meanwhile, I’ll have taken all the credit for collecting the pinecones. Oh, some people might be a little sad that they won’t see you again but will also be gladdened that you’ve managed to find love at last.” 

“And while I’m languishing in this cave, forced nightly to make love to a bear, what will you be doing? Feeding strawberries to another ferocious beast?” asks Max, giving me an arch look. 

The swift change in direction renders me momentarily without a quick retort. I fall back on my default position. I scowl at him.

“What?” asks Max, in feigned innocence. “Isn’t that who the strawberries are for? It’s Tuesday, isn’t it? Memory book night?” 

“Peeta isn’t anything like a ferocious beast,” I say irritably. “Quite the opposite, in fact. And yes, the strawberries are for tonight’s dinner. But I’ll be eating them too. I happen to love strawberries.”

“I bet. They’re said to be an aphrodisiac, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. Not that it’s of any interest to me. Peeta and I are just friends.”

“Good,” replies Max, all facetiousness gone. “He’s caused you enough trouble already. I mean he’s only tried to kill you twice – “

“Not his fault,” I interject quickly.

“And broken your heart over that Lace thing.”

I stay silent. I haven’t decided yet how much of this Peeta is responsible for. I doubt even Peeta knows.

Max stops walking for a few seconds to re-position the sack over his back. It can’t be heavy to carry but it must be awkward. It’s a large sack, and we filled it almost to the brim. Now that he’s more comfortable, the lecture resumes. What is it about teachers? “Be careful, Katniss, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t think you’re nearly as tough as you pretend to be. And you’ve already endured far more than most people would if they lived ten lifetimes. I would hate to see him hurt you all over again.”

“He won’t. I don’t think he’s interested in us getting back together anyway, and I’m certainly not. We’re not the star-crossed lovers anymore and there’s no going back. I could never think of him in the same way. Never.” I say decidedly. 

Max laughs in disbelief. “Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself? But you’re right about one thing. There’s no going back. You can only move on from where you are in present time. Not that you’re interested, of course.”

“Of course.” As much as I hate it, Max is right about this. The past can’t be repeated. We’re two different people now. As nostalgic as I am for what has been lost, it also holds true that even without Lace, our relationship wouldn’t be the same as it was then. Maybe it would be deeper, more adult. Or even non-existent as teenage infatuation fizzled and died, as it so often does. 

I glance back at Max, just as he awkwardly re-adjusts the sack again. Annoying though he is, he’s really a great friend to have. Loyal, no bullshit, and gives surprisingly sage advice. Especially for someone who’s own love life is a disaster. “You’re a good friend, Max. Just thought I’d say it this once. You probably won’t hear it again.” 

Max gives a sort of grunt, but it seems to me that it’s a pleased grunt. We arrive at the strawberry patch a minute later. The berries are ripe and plump and ready for harvesting. 

Strawberry picking is back breaking work because you have to bend low. Max dumps the sack of pine cones onto the forest floor and settles himself against a tree. His relaxed posture suggests he has no intention of moving anytime soon. 

“Even the best of friends has their limits,” he tells me. “And mine is picking up anything off the ground for at least a month. Sorry, Kat, but you can pick your own strawberries.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

Actually, memory book nights have grown from Tuesday nights to three times a week. I haven’t told Max because I know exactly what he would do with it. It was Peeta who suggested we should meet more often. He said that if the memory book is intended to commemorate and mourn our losses in order to help with the healing process, then dragging it out is counter-productive. Or something like that. It made more sense when he said it. 

It’s not like it inconveniences me or anything. Peeta always helps with the cooking, and often does all of it. And I’ve been spoiled with cheese buns to the extent that I started to become sick of them until Peeta added bacon to the recipe and I fell in love with them all over again. We chat about the day we’ve had as we eat our meal, and then work on the memory book, sometimes late into the evening. It’s so nice to have Peeta as a friend again. Now that he’s back in my life, I can let myself acknowledge how much of a strain our estrangement has been on me. To have him live so close, even from the greater distance of my town house, and not see him, talk to him, or feel his presence had been more difficult than I cared to admit. Sometimes I catch myself watching him as he works. The way he becomes so totally engrossed as he puts ink and paint to paper, so reminds me of the time we worked on the family plant book when I was confined to bed with an injured foot in the days before the Quell. It was the first normal thing we had done together, untainted by the Games. And this is possibly the first normal thing we’re done together since, untainted by the hijacking. I think it was over that book, that I began to realise my love for Peeta. No danger of that happening a second time though. We’re not that Peeta or Katniss anymore, more’s the pity. 

Now that we meet more often, progress on the book has been rapid. We’ve finished with family, District 12 friends and the contestants from our first Games. Rue was the most heart-wrenching to do. Rue, more than anyone, encapsulates the horror and barbarity of the Games. A mere child, innocent and trusting, thrust into a brutal competition to the death that she had no chance at winning. Yet she never counted herself out, despite her youth and her small size. And she’s another I owe my life to, as I may never have come down from that tree alive if Rue hadn’t pointed out the trackerjack nest. From the Capitol archives I obtained a picture of Rue in the fairy costume she wore at the Caesar Flickerman interview and Peeta drew another of Rue standing on her toes, her arms slightly out from her body, as if she’s about to take flight. 

The Quell comes next. Mags, the morphlings (real names Porter Grayson and Emily Router), Wiress, Chaff and Cecilia. We put off the most difficult until last. Finnick. 

Peeta goes first. He remembers Finnick’s sense of humour and how he saved his life after being struck by the force field. But his most poignant memory is when Finnick gave Peeta his length of rope soon after he joined the Star Squad. 

I nod as I remember Finnick’s rope too. The concentration it took to tie and untie knots served to distract from mental torment or emotional pain. “He loaned me his rope the night you were rescued from the Capitol. We were sick with worry, he for Annie, me for you.”

“I wish I had known. That you were worried for me, that is. The Capitol told me . . .” Peeta trails off, but he doesn’t need to complete the thought. I can guess what the Capitol told him. It’s only been responsible for . . . well, nearly everything that’s happened since. 

I turn my attention to the photos of Finnick strewn across the table. There’s a lot to choose from. As a Capitol favourite, Finnick was possibly the most photographed of all the Victors. I pick up a glamour shot of a naked Finnick with a come-hither expression and a trident strategically positioned as an enormous phallus. 

“I think what struck me most about Finnick was how different his public persona was from his real self. The Capitol made him into some kind of hedonistic playboy, who flitted from one relationship to another, when there was really only one woman he loved.” I find a photo I took of Annie and Finnick Jnr and pair it with a more wholesome one of Finnick. “I think these would look – “ 

“I never stopped loving you, you know,” says Peeta quietly. 

My eyes turn to him in shock. Is he serious? He told me he wasn’t in love with me anymore. I saw the way he looked at Lace. He married her when he knew how I felt about him. 

But I don’t say these things. I simply stare at him open-mouthed. 

Peeta continues. “I know how that must sound after everything that’s happened. And it’s only in looking back that I can see it. At the time there was so much confusion. I still don’t understand what happened myself. But when the cloud lifted, there was only you. And I knew. There was never anyone but you.”

I shuffle the photos around while I gather my thoughts. This is coming too soon; this overture from Peeta. At least, I think it’s an overture. He talks in the past tense. I don’t know what that means. And his words don’t match with my experience. Not even close. 

“That’s not what I saw, not from where I stood.” I shrug. “What does it matter now, anyway?”

“Of course, it matters!” Peeta exclaims. “You can’t tell me that it’s finished between us. Why did you ask me to work with you on this book if you believe that?”

Because we’re friends? No, that’s not why I reached out to Peeta. It’s because I never really gave him up. Not through Marius, or Gale, or my attempts to distance myself from him. Always I hoped. But that doesn’t mean it was ever a good idea. 

“Do we have to talk about this now?” I prevaricate, hardly daring to look at him. “It’s been nice, hasn’t it? Being friends again? As lovers all we ever seemed to do was make each other miserable. I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t made you so unhappy, your instinct wouldn’t have been to turn to Lace.”

“Katniss, it was not being with you that made me unhappy. I think that’s partly the reason I was drawn to her. I thought I had no chance with you. None at all. But she loved me, when I thought no one else ever would. And although I did love her, it wasn’t in the same way and never as strongly as I love you.”

“I would have given you what she did if you had only let me.” Suddenly I feel angry, and frustrated. I don’t want his excuses. “Look, I really don’t see the point in this. It’s all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. It happened. It’s over. You loved Lace? Fine! She gave you what you needed? Fine! I don’t see why I have to hear about it. Do you want me to tell you what Marius gave me?”

Peeta seems to shrink back. “Love?” he asks, as if he’s afraid of the answer. 

“No,” I say, emphasising the word. “We weren’t like that. He gave me something better. He gave me my self-esteem back. He made me feel beautiful and valued. He showed me how to enjoy life again. And I certainly needed it after the shit I went through with you and Lace.”

“Katniss, I’m so sorry – “

I put up a hand to stop him. “Peeta, I don’t want apologies. They don’t change anything. I know you did the best you could. We both did.” 

I take a deep breath. I don’t want to fight with Peeta or get into recriminations. I feel like I want to lash out, yell at him for every hurt, real or imagined, since he returned to 12. But I know I’ll regret it later. There’s a limit to what he can be held responsible for. And I’m not guilt free in this either. 

“Let’s just leave things as they are,” is what I say. “It’s really all I can handle right now.” 

“Of course,” says Peeta, crestfallen. “Do you . . .do you still want me to continue to work on the book?”

“Yes, of course, I do,” I hasten to assure him. “But maybe we should call it a night. It’s getting late, anyway.”

Peeta gives me a sad half-smile and nods in agreement. He gathers his things together. “Goodnight, Katniss. I didn’t mean to upset you.” And then he’s out the door.

I groan in frustration. I panicked. We’ve been set on a course for friendship and I thought that’s how it would continue. This swift change in direction caught me unawares. I only hope I haven’t pushed him away.

The next day I find a basket of cheese and bacon buns on my doorstep when I return from work, accompanied by a bunch of wildflowers. Peeta wasn’t too fussy which flowers he picked, because there’s a few dandelions amongst them. I smile when I see them, relieved that things are still good between us. On the following night, memory book night, nothing more is said, and we continue on as before.


	9. Chapter 9

Max taps impatiently on the staff room table. It’s the weekly teacher’s meeting and Max is keen to get started. Moira is engrossed in conversation with a new male teacher who arrived a few weeks ago. Everyone has remarked on how well they get along. Max coughs loudly, and the two suddenly snap to attention. A blush blooms on Moira’s cheek. They really are so obvious. 

“Unfortunately, my father is unable to chair the meeting. He’s come down with that flu thing that’s going around but he should be recovered in time for the fete. And since that’s next weekend, I think we should address that first and get it out of the way. Katniss, how is that painting coming along?”

“Finished, and in my possession. I’ll deliver it to the school just before fete day. It looks amazing. Peeta’s really outdone himself.” Peeta had volunteered to do a painting as a raffle prize. It’s a landscape at sunset, a glorious harmony of red and orange against a mountain backdrop. If Peeta is only known locally as a painter of shop signs, this will change a lot of perceptions. 

“Good. And since we’re sold out the raffle tickets, that’s a nice little money raiser even before we add in the proceeds from the fete. So, what else is there . . .” Max makes his way down the list, ticking off everything that’s done, or is still to be done. When it’s to his satisfaction, and after the mundane, everyday operations of the school are taken care of, the meeting is declared closed. Everyone moves off to their classrooms. Moira and her new love interest are among the last to leave. He holds open a door that’s in no danger of closing, and she flashes a coy smile at him as she passes through. Max sighs loudly.

“I never thought my sensible little sister would be so transparent. She might as well hang a sign.”

“Leave them alone. It’s nice to see a little romance around the place.” I say, as I collect my things. 

“Not since you and Marius, you mean. You didn’t fool anyone, you know.” 

I scowl at him. I doubt anyone knew the full extent of our relationship but it’s not surprising we were talked about. All it seems to take is to have a friend of the opposite sex for the speculation to start but it’s still annoying. “We were friends. That’s all.”

“Like you and Peeta are friends, I suppose,” says Max slyly. 

“No, not like Peeta and I are friends. Max, if you have something to say, just spit it out. We’ve both got places to go to.”

“I thought you might want to know the rumour mill has got hold of it. His divorce is pending, his soon-to-be- ex is seen out and about with the tailor from 8 and he’s seen visiting your home regularly. People talk. It’s not helped by the way he looks at you. He’s in love with you, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“He’s not in love with me.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and head towards the door. “I wish people would mind their own business. Why is it that men and women can’t be friends without everyone leaping to the conclusion that there must be more to it? I’m sick of it.”

I stalk out before Max can respond. On the way to my classroom, I try to compose myself before I face the children. But it’s very annoying. Max is probably wrong anyway. There was that one night, about six weeks ago, but there’s been nothing since. In fact, it’s almost like I dreamed the whole thing. And it’s not like Peeta expressed any interest in being romantically involved again. It was more like a defense for past behaviours than anything. I know I said I want to leave things as they are, but I did think that maybe he might ask me out, or something, as a change from working on the memory book, even if we didn’t call it a date. Friends can do that. Especially now that Haymitch has been coming to the dinners too to add the tributes he’s mentored over the years to the memory book. Peeta and I hardly spend any time alone anymore. He probably prefers it that way; the three of us together again. It’s a relief really. 

The day for the fete dawns fine and clear. Moira is pleased. The fete was her idea and she’s worked hard on it. Stalls from local traders sit side by side with craft and bric-a-brac. There’s food stalls, and pony rides and a petting zoo. Max asked if I might be interested in singing a song or two, or maybe doing an archery demonstration. What he got was a filthy look. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been given the poo competition to manage. A grassy area away from the food stalls has been marked into squares. A borrowed cow will be allowed to graze and the person who correctly guesses the square in which the cow poos, wins a percentage of the takings. 

Before I set over there to get the competition started, I take another look at Peeta’s painting on display. It’s so good. He really was wasted on shop signs. Peeta has approached Effie to act as an agent for him and has shipped some of his paintings to her in the Capitol. It’s early days, but the feedback has been positive. I’m so proud of him, although I can’t help feeling a little smug for encouraging him in that direction. Lace made him aspire to be a sign writer, I made him aspire to be a true artist. It’s silly and infantile, but it’s rare that I get to feel superior to Lace. What with doe eyes and mahogany hair and unburnt skin, she seems to have had all the advantages when it came to attracting Peeta. And that’s before I even get into associated memories of Games and other tortures. 

It's just as I go to leave that I hear the faint, but dulcet tones of a pearly laugh to my right. I turn sharply, and there’s Lace smiling into the face of her male companion. It’s Peeta. I watch long enough to see him return the smile and then lean down to kiss her cheek. Suddenly the poo competition becomes a welcome diversion. If I have to watch shit materialise in front of me, I’d rather it came from a cow. I take up my little stall by the edge of the competition area to indicate that I’m open for business and customers appear almost immediately. It seems to have engendered a lot of amusement amongst the fete-goers, but I’m not in the mood for it. If I hear another poo joke, I’ll scream. 

“Hi, I’ve been looking for you. Have long have you been here?” Peeta is at my side; a happy smile illuminates his face. I turn my own away and mumble, “not long.”

“Hey, what do you get when you sit under a cow?”

“A pat on the head. I’ve heard that one at least half a dozen times now.” 

“Oops, sorry. One too many, huh?” 

Peeta peers down into my face, and his good humour turns to concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright. I’m just tired of getting the shitty jobs around here.” 

Peeta laughs, but stops abruptly when he realises I’m not laughing too. After what I witnessed, the last thing I feel like is sharing a joke with him. 

“I mean are you feeling alright? You look flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with the flu that’s going around.” Peeta lays a gentle hand against my forehead. I can’t remember the last time he touched me like this, with such tenderness and concern. Surely it must be nostalgia that threatens to fill my eyes with tears. I pull away and pretend to count the takings.

“I’m fine. I must have got too much sun when I went hunting yesterday.” I scan the school grounds, searching for an excuse to get rid of him. “I think the raffle is about to be drawn. They’ll want you there.”

“Ah, yes, I’d better go.” Before he leaves he says, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay in the shade. I’m serious, you don’t look well.” 

“Thanks for telling me I look like crap,” I mutter under my breath, and then inwardly reprimand myself for making another poo joke. 

I watch the raffle from my stall. It’s won by a prosperous young couple typical of the type of migrants 12 attracts. The Land of Opportunity, the Capitol of the South it’s now called. Haymitch told me that the government has approved the sale of the vacant houses in the Village. Nothing stays the same. Not even the love Peeta once had for me. 

My morose mood doesn’t improve when it’s time for the cow to be let loose on the squares. It seems that almost everyone at the fete has gathered around to wait for a cow to take a dump. I might be entertained by the spectacle myself if I didn’t feel so awful. My head is pounding, and I struggle to ignore waves of nausea in the hope of delaying the inevitable moment when I throw up. After what seems an age, the cow lifts her tail to bated breath. A mudslide of semi-liquid faeces spurts to the ground to wild cheers. The cow has somehow managed to distribute it evenly between four squares. I can’t seem to concentrate well enough to divvy the prize into four equal portions and my hands fumble the coins, but then someone appears at my side to finish the job. Peeta. 

“Come on, you need to get home. Let someone else pack up.” 

I start to protest but I’m ignored. His arm around my shoulders propels me forward and I’m too sick to argue. I’m half carried, half dragged the twenty-minute walk home. I almost make it, when I’m assailed by such a violent wave of nausea that I know vomiting is imminent. I wrench myself out of his arms and dash for a patch of shrubbery a few meters away. In a series of heaves, stomach contents are spattered over rose bushes, the ground, my shoes and the hems of my trousers. Even my braid doesn’t escape. The end is studded with partially digested food. I stand up, shaking, and survey the mess with watery eyes. I don’t want to look at Peeta. The contrast between Lace and me couldn’t be more apparent. Lace: elegantly dressed, hair immaculate, pearly laugh. Katniss: vomit crusted clothes, hair not unlike the shit dipped tail of the cow we just left, sour breath. Nonetheless, I feel his hand on my back, gently rubbing, and then across my shoulders to steer me towards my house. 

Once inside, I immediately head for the shower, only stopping to grab a loose cotton nightgown on the way. After tossing my clothes into a corner and loosening my braid, I practically devour half a tube of toothpaste, brushing my teeth until the vomit taste is gone. I then turn the water pressure in the shower to full but I can’t seem to get the water temperature right; it’s either too cold or too hot. I settle for cold, and then soap myself down and shampoo my hair, slopping on big blobs of conditioner in my haste to be done. My hair is still dripping when I emerge from the bathroom, naked and shivering under the thin cotton nightgown. All I want is a comfortable place to die. My bed has never looked more inviting. The covers have been pulled back, the pillows plumped. A jug of water and a glass has been placed on the nightstand. Peeta must have done this before he left. 

“Wait,” I hear as I’m about to climb into bed. “You can’t get into bed with your hair like that.” Oh, so Peeta didn’t leave after all. He disappears into the bathroom and emerges with a towel. He sits on the bed to draw me between his knees and I’m taken by the shoulders and turned away from him. The towel is rubbed and patted against my hair until it’s a dry as he can get it. I feel a comb run through it and then fingers weaving it into a loose braid. I’m five years old again. When Peeta says, “now get into bed,” I almost reply, “yes Mother.” 

Before I’m allowed to sleep, I’m handed a glass of water. “You need to drink. You’re burning up.” I manage a few sips. My stomach feels better but I don’t want to risk another bout of nausea. I settle my head into the pillow and a cool hand is placed against my forehead. Maybe it’s the fever, or the pull of a fond, distant memory that makes me grab the hand and hold it against my cheek. “Stay with me,” I murmur, as sleep pulls me under. I hear a sharp intake of breath, and then a whispered word that I can’t quite catch. 

The night passes in a blur of dreams about forest fires and freezing blizzards, of steaming jungles and cold damp caves. I wake sticky with sweat and a glass of water is held to my lips until sleep claims me again. I dream of being in a sleeping bag with Peeta. It’s very hot because Peeta is sick and he needs medicine. “Don’t die,” I tell him. “Don’t leave me.” “Shh,” the dream Peeta says soothingly, as he brushes loose tendrils of hair from my forehead. “I won’t leave you. Go back to sleep.” I don’t know how often I wake, drink, and sleep again. Three, four times? But by the time the first light streams through the window early next morning, I feel much better. I put my hand to my forehead to confirm what I already know. The fever is gone. I lower my arm back down, but as I do, it bumps against something solid beside me. Startled, I swiftly turn my head to see what it could be. It’s Peeta, lying above the covers, asleep, his face drawn in exhaustion. He’s probably been up most of the night looking after me. 

Peeta stirs, and then settles back to sleep. I watch his chest rise and fall. I take in the long lashes, the faint remnant of the burn across his forehead, the lips curved in a gentle smile. I smile myself, suffused with happiness to have Peeta by my side again. But then reality intrudes. I suddenly recall the events of yesterday. Why are you smiling, Peeta? Dreaming of Lace, and the way she smiled at you? No longer content to lie here beside him anymore, I carefully ease myself off the bed and pad over to the bathroom. My bladder needed attention anyway. After I’ve relieved myself, I press the button and wince at how loud the plumbing is in this house. Sure enough, when I re-enter the bedroom, Peeta is awake and sitting up.

“How are you feeling? Better?” 

“Yes, much better. The fever’s gone. Thanks for taking care of me last night.” I hover at the end of the bed, unsure of what to do. I can’t return to bed, and I can’t dress in front of him. I look down at my nightgown. With a shock I see the outline of my nipples through the fabric and I put an arm across my chest to cover them. Even worse, this isn’t the nightgown I put on last night. Peeta must have changed it. That means he saw me naked. My face reddens at the thought.

“Your nightgown was damp with sweat. I couldn’t let you stay in it,” he explains. 

“I guess not. Thanks.” I reply, not daring to look at him. Add sweaty and skinny burn covered body to how I must compare to Lace. Dimly I hear another Peeta telling me that I’m not very big, or particularly pretty. I know he was hijacked then, but what if that’s what he really thinks? Lace is taller and rounded; obviously that’s what he prefers. 

Peeta hops off the bed and collects his shoes from the floor. 

“Why don’t I leave you alone to get dressed while I make us some breakfast. Something light, that won’t upset your stomach.”

After Peeta has left the room, I take a quick shower and then search my closet for something to wear. I reach for an orange sun dress instead of the usual khaki trousers. I want him to see me in a better light than he did last night, although I don’t know why I should care. My emotions have been a jumbled mess ever since I saw him with Lace yesterday. They really wouldn’t get back together, would they? Not after I’ve befriended him again at her suggestion. And after I’ve risked being hurt again for his benefit. I think back to that moment when I saw Lace dimpling up at him, and him smiling back at her. And that stupid pearly laugh pealing across the school yard, the same laugh that Peeta rhapsodised over when he first met her.

And what about that kiss on the cheek? What was that about? You don’t go around kissing your ex. And that pleased smile from her when he did. As for last night – he cleaned vomit off a drunken Haymitch the night we were reaped for our first games. Peeta is kind to everyone. It doesn’t make me special. I feel like crying. And it’s so stupid. I don’t care. I don’t. I yank the orange dress off the hanger and pull it over my head, slip on some sandals and re-braid my hair all the while repeating “I don’t care” until it feels like I believe it. 

In the kitchen, Peeta is busy slicing bread while something bubbles on the stove. A mug of tea waits for me at the table. I take a grateful sip. I need something to soothe my nerves. 

“Thanks again for staying with me last night. You didn’t have to. Dealing with vomit can’t be fun. First Haymitch and now me.”

Peeta stops slicing for a moment to glance my way. “I’ve never stayed with Haymitch.”

He returns to his work. Bread is put in the toaster and eggs are lowered into water that’s boiling on the stove. I take another sip of my tea and attempt to decipher his meaning. Does he mean it wasn’t just kindness that compelled him to stay the night? Hope sparks, but I also can’t deny what I saw yesterday. 

“I saw Lace at the fete yesterday. She seems happy,” I venture, as I steel myself for the worst.

“She is. Very. The divorce came through during the week. She wants to announce her engagement to Arthur and now she can. They’re combining their businesses too. It’s all coming together for her,” he says in a neutral voice.

Peeta sets plates and cutlery on the table. I search his face for any sadness or regret. There is none. He was congratulating her! And probably happy himself that it had turned out well. Now I really feel stupid. 

“Oh, that’s good.” Another sip of tea. A change of topic would be good. I don’t really want to talk about Lace. “The couple who won your painting seemed very happy too. The raffle made a lot of money for the school.” 

The toaster pops and Peeta removes the eggs from the pot. He smiles modestly. “It did go well, didn’t it? And your poo competition was the highlight of the day. Who’d have thought waiting for a cow to do its thing would be so fascinating? It makes you wonder why they didn’t put that on TV instead of the Games.”

“Yeah. It might have been too sophisticated for Capitol tastes though.”

We both chuckle at my feeble joke and then silence descends. There’s something hanging in the air between us – something that’s been coming for weeks. The fete signals the end of the school year and I’ll be spending the coming weeks in 4 with my mother. The memory book is almost completed too and we won’t have that to return to when I come back. Then what? The book is the only thing we do together. Do we go back to being casual acquaintances? I don’t know what I want, but I do know what I don’t want. I don’t want to lose what we’ve gained. I don’t want to lose Peeta.

“Why don’t you come with me to 4 for the holidays?” I ask on impulse. “My mother would love to see you and she has plenty of room. You could bring your painting things with you.” 

“If you want to, that is,” I add casually, in case I sound too eager. 

“Of course, I want to. I’d love to come. But are you sure it would be all right with your mother?”

“I’ll have to check, but I’m certain she’ll say yes.”

Peeta joins me at the table as happy and excited as I’ve ever seen him. He holds a plate out to me.

“Toast?”


	10. Chapter 10

It’s dinner time when we arrive at my mother’s house. She has a big pot of seafood chowder on the stove waiting for us. As she ladles soup into bowls, I place the cat carrier on the floor and open the hatch. But despite Buttercup alternately sulking and miaowing for the entire journey from 12, he stays right where he is. 

“Typical,” I say. “Stupid cat doesn’t know what he wants.”

“They say cats take on the attributes of their owners,” says my mother jokingly. Peeta suppresses a grin. Great. He’s been here for all of five minutes and they’re already ganging up on me. 

“He’ll come out when he’s ready. Come have something to eat,” she says, as she places a basket of bread in the centre of the table. 

The chowder is as delicious as I remember it. Peeta seems to be enjoying it too, although he doesn’t look very impressed with the bread. I get the feeling that we’ll be eating homemade bread as of tomorrow. 

As we eat, my mother fills us in on 4 news. Annie and Magnus Clarke are now dating, so Annie had to find a new therapist. The inaugural “Point to Pier” swimming carnival will be held next week. A new restaurant has opened that my mother wouldn’t mind trying. And the Primrose Everdeen Pediatric Wing (formerly the Primrose Everdeen Memorial Wing) will be opened the week after next. Oh, and would I be interested in saying a few words about Prim. 

“It’s not a big event, is it?” I ask. My stage fright seems to get worse every time I’m in front of an audience.

“Not at all. Just the mayor and someone from the health department. And interested people associated with the hospital. Then it’s just a tour, and afternoon tea to follow.”

“OK, then. If it’s just a few words,” I say. The thought still makes me nervous though.

We retire for bed early, tired after the long trip from 12. The following morning, I wake to the tantalising smell of freshly baked bread. But when I pad out to the kitchen, I’m disappointed not to see Peeta there.

“He’s taken his sketch book. He wanted to capture the fishing boats as they set out for the day,” my mother tells me. 

Peeta is back before midday. After lunch, we go for a walk on the beach. This becomes our routine. Peeta paints in the mornings. And I swim or read. In the afternoons, we walk on the beach or go into town. 

I also teach Peeta how to fish from the pier near my mother’s house. That may not have been a good idea because once he’s caught on, he starts catching more fish than me. Annoyed, I insist on trading places with him but still he lands one fish after another while I do little more than twiddle my thumbs. 

“It must be because you cast a larger shadow and the fish are attracted to the shade,” I say in a sulky voice. “It’s not fair. I’m supposed to be the hunter out of the two of us.” 

Peeta has this sort of self-satisfied smile on his face. I feel like pushing him off the pier. “Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll let you bake the bread tomorrow. And then we’ll be even.” 

“Bastard,” I say, under my breath.

“What did you call me?” 

“Nothing.”

“I distinctly heard you say something.” Peeta puts down his fishing rod and scoots closer to me. “What was it?” 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. And I’m not giving up until you tell me.” And then he tickles me until I shriek with laughter and beg him to stop. I end up on my back, Peeta leaning over me, hands planted on either side.

“Tell me,” he insists, his face close to mine. 

Breathless, I can do little more than stare at him. “I – “

“Fuck!” Peeta suddenly sits up. We’ve both been splashed with cold water, with Peeta getting the brunt of it. “What the – “ 

I raise myself up and peer into the water. A few moments later, a pointed nose breaks the surface. It’s Moko, the dolphin I met a year ago. And I swear he’s laughing at us. 

“It’s Moko!” I excitedly tell Peeta. “He’s famous around here. I went swimming with him last time I was here.” 

I reach over for Peeta’s bucket and throw Moko a fish from it. He leaps from the water and catches it almost in mid-air. 

“Isn’t he amazing?” I throw him another fish as a reward for catching the first one. Moko keeps us company for the next half hour when he suddenly leaves us to swim out for deeper waters.

“It must be time for him to accompany the fishing boats,” I explain to Peeta. It also seems to have coincided with us running out of fish. 

“I guess we’ll have to go to the market after all,” I say.

“Hmm,” is all Peeta says, as he packs up the fishing gear. 

As we walk back towards my mother’s house, I think how nice this is - being friends and getting to know each other again. If I sometimes wonder why he hasn’t shown any interest in being more than that, I remind myself that it’s probably better this way. Our history is too fraught and complicated to be rushing into anything. 

******

Outside the hospital, people begin to gather. My mother said she wasn’t expecting a big crowd for the opening of the Primrose Everdeen Pediatric Wing; only local dignitaries, those involved with the hospital and maybe a smattering of the general public. But it seems that half of 4 has turned up.

“What’s happening? You said they’d only be a small gathering. Why are all these people here?” I ask, with rising panic.

“I suppose they must have heard that you and Peeta will be here,” my mother answers. She takes in the steady line of people coming up the path. “I hope it doesn’t spoil the occasion and turn it into a circus.”

“Of course it will be a circus!” I burst out. “I should have known this would happen. I should never have agreed to be part of the ceremony.” I groan and put my hands to my face. “As if I wasn’t already nervous enough.” I take a few deep breaths. I can feel a panic attack coming on. 

Peeta puts an arm across my shoulders. “It will be alright,” he says, soothingly. “We’ve done this before, remember? I can do all the talking if you want.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

Peeta has written most of the speech I’d intended to do anyway. I’d struggled for hours in a futile attempt to write a worthy dedication to Prim but, as usual, the words wouldn’t come. So, when Peeta offered to write it for me, I accepted with relief. I told him what I wanted to say and then he translated it into something coherent and moving. It still feels like his work though, and that I’ve let Prim down in some way. This memorial to Prim is supposed to be a healing, positive thing, but I’m a jittery bunch of nerves. Memories of other speeches haunt me. The Victory tour and having to stand before the families of children I’d possibly killed. The awful fear and worry that saying or doing the wrong thing could bring Snow’s wrath down upon us all. Peeta seems to sense my fear because the arm around me tightens. I have an impulse to turn into him and bury my face against his chest, but I stop myself. I’m still not sure if I’m supposed to want that. 

“It will only be for the speeches, Katniss. Then we go inside for the tour and afternoon tea. They can’t follow us there.” says my mother. She leaves us to join Magnus and Annie who are talking to the mayor of 4 and his wife. 

“It should have been held indoors. Whose stupid idea was to have it in the grounds?” I moan. 

“I think it might have been yours. Something about Prim and her love of flowers,” Peeta reminds me. I can’t be sure, but there seems to be a hint of laughter in his voice. The crowds, having to stand and speak before an audience, doesn’t seem to faze him at all. 

“Don’t you get tired of the star-crossed lovers thing, though? It follows us whatever we do.”

There’s a long silence and I wonder if Peeta heard me. “No,” he eventually says. “I only tire of the notoriety.” 

His arm drops from my shoulders. “Come on. We have to go. It’s nearly time for the speeches.”

I follow him outside and take my seat beside him. He takes my hand in his and gives me a reassuring smile. I smile back. It’s weird how we seem to have slipped into our former star-crossed lovers routine. Just put us in front of an audience, I guess. 

A government official, a representative of Panem Health Services or whatever, speaks first. I was afraid Gale might turn up for this, since he was responsible for most of the funding, but I’ve yet to set eyes on him. Maybe he heard that I’d be here and chose to be elsewhere. Not that I blame him if he did. We have already said everything we need to say to each other. Not to mention that rather embarrassing sexual encounter. I don’t regret it exactly, but it was hardly our finest moment. 

Next to speak is the mayor. He drones on forever about the re-development of 4 and his part in it, concluding with the latest addition to the hospital. It must be an election year. I find my concentration drifting and I look out at our audience as a distraction. This proves to be a mistake. Most eyes are on Peeta and me; curiously examining our clothes, our deportment, the way we interact. It wouldn’t surprise me if word has leaked out that Peeta had married another and was now divorced. It wasn’t a secret in 12, and news travels far more freely between districts than it did under Capitol rule. The public had been so invested in our romance. I wonder how they see us now. 

Magnus follows the mayor. Thankfully, his speech is free of self-aggrandizement and is mostly concerned with how the new wing will benefit and serve the community. I hardly hear it though. Peeta and I are next and my stomach feels like its full of lead. My knee jigs nervously and Peeta puts out his free hand to stop it. He then takes my hand in both of his and I calm down a little.

I was originally meant to make this speech on my own. Just a few words about the girl the new wing is named for. And who better than the sister who volunteered to take her place in the Games? But then Peeta, seeing my apprehension, offered to stand beside me while I made it. And then he offered to write it for me. And now he’s about to speak it for me. I’m such a coward. Yet somehow that thought isn’t enough to make me want to take control and actually do it myself.

Magnus introduces us and we step forward. The audience gives us an enthusiastic welcome. They remember us, alright. Peeta had taken my clumsy, ill-formed ideas and turned them into something truly beautiful to deliver them in a way only Peeta is capable of. When he finishes, I stand on tip-toe to kiss him. I aim for his cheek but I find his lips there instead. The crowd collectively sighs. 

We turn to leave, but then something stops me. It’s not the audience, who watch speculatively. And it’s not Peeta, who has taken me by the hand to lead me away. It’s Prim. 

I have no idea what I’m going to say, but I remember what Magnus said to me when I first visited the hospital. That others know that I have losses as they do.

“In many ways, Prim was a typical teenage girl. She loved animals and pretty clothes. Once we could afford them, that is.” The audience titters at this. I pause until it stops. “She was sweet, and kind, and wise beyond her years. But like most of us, she was forced to grow up too quickly, due to the times we lived in. She died too young, never realising her dream of becoming a doctor. Perhaps you have a sister, or a brother, or someone dear to you whose life was taken too soon. It’s hard to make sense of why these things happen, but one thing I’ve learned is that after we’ve mourned, we owe it to them to live as well as we can to make their deaths count. That’s why I am so proud to be here for the opening of the Primrose Everdeen Paediatric Wing. Here children will be given the best in health care to help them live well. Just as Prim would have done, had she lived. Thank you.”

After I’ve acknowledged the applause I turn to find Peeta’s arms waiting for me. It’s the most natural thing in the world to return the hug, and the kiss that follows it too.

Later, after we’ve been taken on a tour of the new wing, we help ourselves to the refreshments provided. Peeta helped organise the catering and there’s a generous array of delicious baked goods. I try to nibble delicately on a cupcake, taking care not to get frosting all over my face, when a male hand descends on my shoulder. 

“Gale!” I almost drop the cupcake in shock. 

“Hi Katniss. You can’t be that surprised to see me. I’ve been working on this project with your mother from the beginning.” Gale hands me a paper napkin and points to his nose. I get the hint and wipe mine. He’s looking well - certainly far less strained than I remember from last year.

“It’s just that I didn’t see you earlier,” I explain. “When did you get here?” 

“Ah, I arrived a little late. There was a delay at the hotel, but I was here in time for your speech.” 

“What did you think of it?” 

Before Gale can answer, Peeta suddenly appears to stand close behind me. His hand grips my upper arm in such a proprietorial way that I feel like shaking it off. 

“Hello Gale. It’s been a while.” Peeta says, pleasantly enough.

“Peeta,” returns Gale. “Yes, it has been a while. I must say I’m surprised to see you here.” Gale’s eyes travel from the hand around my arm back to Peeta. “Is your wife here with you?” 

I feel Peeta’s body stiffen. “Peeta’s no longer married. He’s divorced,” I say quickly. 

“I see,” says Gale, in a manner that suggests he doesn’t see at all. 

“Katniss! Peeta!” A young woman with short spiky hair pushes her way towards us. 

“Imagine seeing you here!” Johanna kisses me on the cheek and then leans across to do the same to Peeta so that I’m squashed in the middle. She then hooks her arm through Gale’s. I steal a glance at his face. He appears slightly embarrassed. “Aren’t you surprised to see me?” 

“Very,” Peeta and I say together. 

Johanna, with the occasional word from Gale, tells us how they met. Gale was in District 7 to visit his brother Rory who is studying forestry at a new facility there. They were at a student dinner when they ran into Johanna. By the most amazing coincidence Johanna was enrolled in the same course as Rory although she had only attended one class and had discovered it wasn’t for her. “You know how it is, Peeta. Just because swinging an axe at a tree is your hobby, it doesn’t follow that tree management should be your profession.” Johanna dropped out soon after, but she and Gale were now an item. They’ve been together since.

Peeta and I give them our congratulations and I feel some of the tension ease from Peeta’s body. Maybe it’s because Gale isn’t a threat anymore. Gale still seems hostile though. 

“Katniss, where’s the ladies’ room?” Joanna asks.

I point down the hall. “If you go down the end of the hall and turn left, you’ll see it.”

“I need you to show me.” Johanna grabs my elbow and pulls me forward. “Sorry guys, it’s a girl thing. We’re incapable of going alone.” 

“They’ll be OK,” Johanna tells me as I look back worriedly. “We need to talk.” 

Once we’re in the ladies’ room, Johanna heads straight for the mirror to examine her reflection. She fluffs her hair and turns her face one way, and then the other. “Do you think I have that just fucked look?”

“Ah, yes. I guess.” I should expect something outrageous from Johanna by now. Actually, she looks like she always does, unless Johanna naturally has the just fucked look. 

Johanna grins. “It’s what I was going for when I jumped Gale just as we were about to leave. It made us late, but what did we miss? Just some boring speeches.”

“It wasn’t all boring – “ I start to say. But Johanna isn’t listening. 

“Katniss, the sex is incredible! The man can go all night! And to think I wouldn’t have known what I was missing if you hadn’t fucked him first and then told me about it.”

I laugh at the irony of it. But mostly I laugh to see Johanna so happy. No one deserves happiness more than Johanna after everything she’s suffered. 

“And what about you?” says Johanna, with a self-satisfied smirk. “I told you that marriage wouldn’t last and that you and Peeta should be together.”

“Um, we’re not exactly together. Not like that, anyway. We’re friends.”

Johanna snorts. “Yeah, right. You were only all over each other during the speeches. You don’t have to act for the cameras any more, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just . . . habit, I guess.” I know it’s an evasion, but I still haven’t processed what it means myself yet. 

Johanna shakes her head. “Always the last to know,” she singsongs, drawing out the syllables. “That could be your mantra in life.”

When we join Peeta and Gale there’s no blood at least. In fact, whatever Peeta has said to Gale in my absence seems to have won him over. Peeta smiles at me as I approach and I walk into his outstretched arm to be gathered to his side. I ignore Johanna’s pointed look. What does she know? Friends can be physically affectionate. They do this sort of thing all the time.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, I’m up at my usual hour to eat breakfast and read the newspaper. I’m curious to see how the opening of the new hospital wing was reported. I’m pleased to see that it’s been given almost a full page with a lovely photograph of my mother posing in the hospital grounds. I’m less pleased when I turn the page. A full two-page spread has been devoted to the star-crossed lovers. The headline screams “Star-Crossed Lovers Still Loved Up.” The main photograph is of Peeta and me at yesterday’s opening locked in an embrace. 

I skim through the beginning of the article. It’s the same old stuff. Everyone knows the story. I wonder that people aren’t sick of it. I guess it’s not surprising then that the bulk of it is about Peeta’s marriage and divorce. It appears that the news did reach other districts after all. They’ve even managed to obtain a paparazzi shot of Lace. Lace would hate it. Instead of her usual cheerful expression, she looks like she’s been sucking lemons. And they’ve misspelled her name too, referring to her as Lace Bumole. Included are a few comments from people who were at the opening. They report feeling devastated when they heard of Peeta’s marriage as they had held up our romance as a beacon of love and hope in an uncertain world. Apparently our reunion has restored their faith. 

One comment in particular takes my interest. It’s from Harry Birch. I know Harry. He was a trader at the Hob. He must live in 4 now. It reads, “when I heard he’d jilted our Katniss for some slapper from District 8, I wanted to cut his d*** off. But then you never could trust them merchant types. He seems to be treating our girl well now though, so I might forgive him.” 

I fold up the newspaper and place it at the bottom of the stack. Peeta seldom reads the paper anyway, so he probably won’t search for it. Tomorrow it will be yesterday’s news and a hospital wing opening in District 4 won’t be of interest in 12. I’m also confident that if it reaches Plutarch it won’t go any further, thanks to Marius. Peeta feels bad enough as it is. 

A few minutes later, my mother joins me. “Where’s Peeta?” she asks.

She sets down two mugs of tea on the table and pulls out a chair. Once seated, she pulls her shawl closely around her. It’s chilly out here on the veranda in the early morning air. Later, when the sun has properly risen, it will be a welcome shady retreat from the heat of the day. 

“Thanks.” I take a careful sip of the tea, and then set it aside to cool a little. “Peeta got up early to do some painting. He wanted to capture the sunrise from the main jetty.” 

My mother’s face creases in a smile. “He’ll be awhile then. I’m glad Peeta is making use of his time here. It must have been a difficult year for him with the divorce. It’s lovely to see him again too. We were all so close at one time.”  
I feel a flicker of annoyance that it’s Peeta who gets my mother’s sympathy. But then I remember that I did use the divorce as my excuse to invite Peeta along, and I’ve told her nothing of my own troubles in the past few years. 

“Adversary will do that. Bring people together, I mean.” It seems a safe, non-committal answer.

“And tear them apart too,” she replies.

There’s a short silence. I sense my mother has something she wants to say and is unsure how to start. This would be an opportune time to pick up my mug of tea and leave. Too late, she opens her mouth to speak.

“What’s Peeta’s ex-wife like? I feel I know so little about your lives in 12. What with Peeta married and then divorced, it’s hard to comprehend that so much has changed since I knew him.”

What she really means is that it’s hard to comprehend that someone who had been so devoted somehow ended up married to someone else. My mother often has a round-about-way of saying things. 

I answer as matter-a-fact as I can. I don’t want my mother to suspect that I was anything other than fine with Peeta’s choice. For some reason, I don’t feel comfortable showing vulnerability in front of her. Perhaps it’s the long habit of having to be the stronger of us two. 

“There’s not a lot to tell. She’s a seamstress from 8 originally. She came to 12 to start a business and that’s how she and Peeta met. He needed a new coat. And then they started dating, and it went from there. Imagine a sort of a combination of Peeta and Delly Cartwright. Sociable, giggly, very people orientated. And round. Round eyes, round body, round face. Except for her brown hair, she could pass as merchant.”

My mother takes a few moments to absorb this information. “I assume during this time, he had very few memories of his past and still had some distrust of you?”

“Yes. He also had this idea that I had never loved him, and never could.” Despite my efforts, I can’t keep a faint tremor out of my voice. 

“Well, he was hijacked to believe that,” my mother says, her voice carefully neutral. Somehow, I don’t think my effort to appear detached is fooling her at all. “It’s understandable that he’d be attracted to someone who reminded him of his childhood friend. Without his memories, he’d have only his instincts to guide him. As I recall, Peeta had no negative associations with Delly.”

And plenty with me, I mentally finish for her. 

“And if she was like himself, that would also appeal to someone who was trying desperately to find themselves,” she continues. “And maybe she even reminded him a little of you. She must have an entrepreneurial nature if she left home to set up a business in another district. It’s not unlike you when you traded in the Hob or made the rounds with the merchants.” 

What an odd notion, that Lace reminded him of me. But when I think back, that’s one of the things he admired about her. She was also poor, something else we shared in common. I peer at her curiously. “How do you know this stuff?”

“I spend a lot of time with PTSD patients and I talk to Magnus a lot too. I asked him about Peeta. I’d been under the impression that you had decided that Peeta wasn’t the one for you, rather than the other way around, so when I learned the truth, I wondered about it. It just seemed out of character for him, that’s all.”

My need to put up a tough front comes to the fore. “Well, as it happens, I did decide Peeta wasn’t the one for me. If he can fall in love with another girl and then marry her, then he isn’t the person I thought he was. “

My mother turns to me in puzzlement. I hide my face from her by taking a sip of tea. “But it isn’t that the point? He wasn’t the same person. He was well enough to move back into society, otherwise Dr Aurelius wouldn’t have released him. But he still had a long way to go and he certainly wasn’t well enough to commit to a serious relationship. Didn’t anyone step in? Try to stop him?” 

“Haymitch and I tried, but it only put Peeta on the defensive. Dr Aurelius might have advised against it, but Peeta didn’t say anything.”

My mother nods. “It’s hard to dissuade someone who is determined on a set course. It doesn’t surprise me that the marriage failed as the memories returned though.” I feel her eyes on me, searching my face. “How do you feel about him now?”

I do my best impression of an indifferent shrug. “He’s a friend. Nothing more than that.”

“I don’t think Peeta feels the same way. He’s in love with you as much as ever, if I’m any judge.

“Maybe he does, but I don’t know if I could ever trust him the way I did.” 

My mother doesn’t respond immediately. It’s as if she’s carefully considering her next words. “Trust is certainly important in a relationship,” she says slowly. “But trust doesn’t come without taking a risk. You first have to decide whether it’s worth it.”

“Easy for you to say. You and Dad had the perfect marriage.”

“Katniss, we loved each other very much, but no marriage is perfect. We had our disagreements the same as other couples. We were just careful not to have them in front of you or Prim. I would hope that you’re not using this notion that we had a perfect marriage as some kind of standard to aspire to. That would be a big mistake, to have this idea that nothing less than perfection will do, when perfection doesn’t exist. “

I shrug and say nothing. I have held up my parents’ relationship as the ideal. In Peeta, I saw the same devotion and steadfastness as my father. He was so loving, so faithful, but then he gave it to someone else. That’s what I can’t get over. 

My mother continues. “Have you ever considered what a great risk I took by trusting that our love was strong enough to counter everything against us? I had doubts. Lots of them. My family saw our marriage as a terrible betrayal and they never forgave me. Not even after your father died and we were desperate for help. They probably thought I got what I deserved.” 

Over the years I’ve thought many times about what my mother gave up. If she had wed Peeta’s father they would have been owners of not only the bakery, but the apothecary as well, as my mother was to inherit. But I had always thought the decision was easy, that their love was so strong that there wasn’t any choice to make.

“But . . .I thought that . . .” I don’t finish. My mother seems to guess my train of thought though.

“That I was so in love that nothing else mattered? No, I gave a lot of thought to what I’d be giving up. If I had married Bran I would have had a very comfortable life. And we got along well; we had been friends since childhood. But I think, even though I might have been contented enough, there would have always been something missing. And, of course, once I met your father, mere contentment was never going to be enough.” 

“And you thought a life with Dad would make it all worthwhile?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t be sure. When you’re in love, it feels like it will last forever, but I wasn’t so naïve as to believe it. We could fall out of love, the obstacles could prove too much, he could leave me – there were all sorts of scenarios I considered, and there was no going back. But I thought it was worth the risk. I had to trust I was making the right decision. And, as it turned out, he did leave me. He died. But despite all the pain, and all the difficulties, I’d do it all over again, no hesitation whatsoever.”

I try to find the flaw in her argument. I know she’s obliquely alluding to Peeta and me, using herself as the example. But my father had never looked at another woman, not after he met her. It’s a different kind of trust for me. It’s the trust needed to overcome a betrayal, the faith needed to believe that it will never happen again.

“It’s different for me. You never had to doubt Dad’s love. He never gave it to someone else.”

My mother sighs. “We all come with baggage, Katniss. With your father came a harsh life in Seam and being shunned by family and friends. With Peeta, it’s a failed relationship when he was mentally incompetent. For me, it was ongoing. For you, it’s finished with if you decide it is.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I concede. I can’t deny the truth in her words, but it’s not so easy for me to forgive someone who’s hurt me. She should know. I resented her for years before I forgave her for not being there for Prim and me when my father died. But then, a little voice niggles, you did forgive her when you came to realise that it was something she couldn’t help. Why not Peeta?

I hear the scrape of a chair being pulled along the floor as my mother rises from the table. She collects the empty cups and gives my shoulder a squeeze. 

“Only you can decide what you can live with. But if it’s something you can’t get past, perhaps you should tell Peeta. It’s better to let him down now than to keep him living in hope.” 

Moments later, I hear the sounds of running water from the kitchen and the clink of crockery as it makes contact with the draining board. I stay in my seat, gazing at nothing in particular. I don’t know if I can make that big leap of faith that my mother did. 

\-------------------------------------------  
At midday I meet up with Johanna for lunch before she and Gale leave for 2 on the afternoon train. We lounge on the grassy foreshore while Johanna picks at the remains of her meal and throws an occasional chip to the gulls. Soon we’re surrounded by squawking, demanding birds. 

“You know who they remind me of?” she asks.

Yourself? I wonder. “Who?”

“Our prep teams. The way they flapped around, going berserk if any hair was out of place. I actually became quite fond of them. More than my stylist, anyway. Idiot woman, and her fetish for tree costumes.” Johanna throws another chip, causing a flurry of feathers and outraged shrieks as the winner makes off with the prize. “I sometimes wonder what happened to them. If Snow had them executed, like he did Peeta’s.”

I smile faintly as I recall how I had compared my own prep team to oddly coloured birds. “Maybe. I was told mine were the only ones who survived. And that’s only because they were kidnapped and taken to 13. They got it from both sides. Effie was found in a Capitol prison and Coin would’ve had her executed if Haymitch and Plutarch hadn’t intervened. So if Snow didn’t kill them, Coin would have. Why are you thinking of this now, though? I do my best to forget.”

Johanna throws her last chip to the gulls and scrunches the paper they were wrapped in into a ball. “Because that’s what they’d like us to do – forget. Snow, Coin, and everyone like them. Even our present government has its dirty little secrets. Well, I’m not giving them the satisfaction.”

I nod. I know what she means. History is written by the victors. Snow will be painted as the black-hearted villain he was, but what of Coin? And how does Plutarch and others like him reconcile their own complicity in it? By making sure their version of the truth is the one to prevail, is my guess. It’s hardly comfortable though. The remembering. 

“Gale looks a lot happier these days,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “I can’t believe he actually bought that you had signed up for a course in forest management.”

Johanna laughs. “I don’t think he does. I don’t think he cares either. Not after I showed him what he’s been missing all his life.”

I roll my eyes at her. I might be offended at the implication if I didn’t know what really transpired between Gale and me. It wouldn’t take much to make up for what he’s apparently missed. 

“So why did you bring Peeta with you if you don’t plan on jumping him?” Johanna asks. “Was it just so you could re-enact the star-crossed lovers routine?”

“No,” I reply, annoyed. “If you had any idea how much I hate anything to do with star-crossed lovers, you wouldn’t even joke about it. The truth is, is that Peeta’s had a very hard year with the divorce and everything, and I thought he could do with the break. Wasn’t it you who said I should be a friend when he and Lace split up?”

“Er, no. What I said was that you should make your move to get back together.” Johanna leans back on her elbows, her gaze on a group of children building sandcastles on the beach. “I know what Peeta went through better than anyone. And to come out of it with his dreams destroyed and no better comfort than that bitch he married, it just tears at me. Especially now that I’ve found happiness myself.”

I turn to stare at Johanna. I hadn’t thought of it that way. That Peeta had been robbed of a dream he had cherished since childhood. And there’s another thing. Johanna has first-hand insight into what torture can do to a person and she spent time in the Mellark residence. She probably learnt far more about Lace in a week, than I have in all the time I’ve known her. 

“You think Lace is a bitch?” I ask, as casually as I can. 

I feel Johanna regarding me curiously. I keep my eyes forward. Suddenly I’m filled with excitement. I’ve had this valuable source of information right under my nose, and it’s just occurred to me to use it. 

“Bitch is probably not the right word. She’s more like a smiling assassin,” says Johanna. “How so many people are taken in by her baffles me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean Lace gets what Lace wants. She’ll smile and giggle and tell you want you want to hear, and the moment your back is turned, she’ll stick a knife in it. I overheard her complaining about me to Peeta. Said she was concerned for his mental health that having me around would be reminder of his time in the Capitol. But I knew she just wanted me gone. And Peeta doesn’t see how she operates. He takes everything she says at face value.”

“Peeta likes to see the good in people,” is all I say. I doubt that Peeta is so easily fooled but I know what Johanna means about Lace. In the past, Lace has used well-meaning concern to manipulate things her way. A memory of Lace warning Peeta to “don’t bother Katniss” at a certain mayor’s party comes to mind. “Is that why you turned up on my doorstep? Because you were kicked out?” 

“I wasn’t kicked out. Peeta told Lace he’d be fine, but I didn’t want to stay after that. And then I saw you arrive in the Village so . . .” Johanna leaves the sentence unfinished to let me fill in the rest. 

“And I thought it was the pleasure of my company,” I say drily. I have a mental image of Lace offering to help Johanna pack. I have some sympathy for Lace though. There were a few occasions when I would have liked to have done the same. 

“But she did make him happy. For a time, at least,” I say.

“I find that hard to believe,” snorts Johanna.

“No, she did. You didn’t see him when he returned to 12. It wasn’t only his memories that were missing. He was like . . . it’s hard to describe, but almost like he was a teenager again. A young teenager. Aged about fourteen, maybe. It was like the hijacking had created a big gap in his emotional development that he needed to make up. He liked hanging out at the ice-cream parlour and at the pool. When he first asked Lace out, he thought it was a big deal that he was taking her to a restaurant.” 

As I say it, certain behaviours start to make more sense. The stiff jaws joke, crass as it was, was the sort of thing a fourteen-year-old might find sophisticated and funny. It was certainly out of character for the Peeta I had known. And the groping session in the kitchens – just the thing a randy teenage boy would love to do if he could find a girl who’d let him. 

“Easy to manipulate then,” says Johanna. “Teenage boys are ruled by their dicks. Well, bigger boys too, but especially at that age. They can’t keep their hands off it. I bet Peeta didn’t have to work too hard to get it. And don’t forget, Peeta was eighteen then. Almost nineteen. A fourteen-year old brain in a nineteen-year old body.”

“Yeah” I bite my lip as I recall an incident that’s still painful to me. I’ve never told anyone, but if there’s anyone I can confess such a thing to, it’s Johanna. “I surprised them together once. We were at the Mayor’s annual dinner. It was an important night for Lace. She saw it as an opportunity to build her clientele. I wanted to leave without being noticed so I went out the back way. That’s when I saw them. Peeta had her pressed against a wall and she had a leg wrapped across his back. He had one hand on her breast while he jerked his pelvis into hers. I can’t be sure, since Peeta’s back was to me, but I think they might have been having sex. Lace had to adjust her clothing and Peeta kept his back to me. It was horrible.” 

It’s taken a long time for me to acknowledge what they were doing. I’ve called it groping, or dry humping. Anything to lessen the impact. But I had actually caught them fucking. 

Johanna stares at me in astonishment. “Fuckin’ hell, Katniss. No wonder you were traumatised. What happened then?”

“They stopped what they were doing. I still remember how he looked at me as if it were yesterday. A strange mixture of surprise, embarrassment and lust, I think. And then he apologised and I ran.” 

“Why would he be looking lustfully at you, when he was just humping Lace?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yeah! It’s my theory confirmed. He was thinking of you the whole time. Lace was just the object. You don’t get caught mid-fuck, and then want to fuck the person who interrupted you. You’re embarrassed and annoyed as hell. And you don’t apologise. They do. I should know. It’s happened to me once or twice.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” He did have the same expression when we kissed on the beach in the Quell. I thought it was Lace who had brought out those feelings in him. But he wouldn’t have looked at me like that if it had been her. And then he acted as if he had been caught cheating on me instead of being caught with someone he had a right to be with. 

“Shows how desperate Lace was though, doesn’t it? I bet she was up for anything,” says Johanna. 

I search my memory for when those sleep-overs started. Early, I think. And Lace had her own apartment too to indulge in sexual liaisons. I think if anyone was doing the seducing, it was Lace. She was actually kissing ice-cream off his face when I first met her. Peeta’s far too much of a romantic to be “ruled by his dick” as Johanna suggests, though. It was affection, more than sex, that Lace used to bind Peeta to her. The lingering glances, the caresses on the cheek, the public kisses.

“You said that Lace looks like Delly. Could that have been it too, do you think?” I ask. I want her opinion on this. 

Johanna considers it. “Yeah, but not to fuck. You saw Delly and Peeta together in 13. There’s nothing there. But she was one of the few people Peeta trusted. Peeta had a predisposition to be drawn to Lace. That’s what Haymitch and I think, anyway. Add to that suppressed feelings for you that had to be expressed somehow and you have a recipe for disaster. I’ve told you all this before.” 

“Yeah, you did. I guess I wasn’t in the right place to hear it then,” I say, allowing Johanna her victory. “But it still doesn’t explain why Lace was attracted to Peeta. I mean, Lace is ambitious. She came to 12 on her own to start her own business. And she worked awfully hard to get it established. Why would she want an aimless teenage boy with all the problems Peeta had?”

“Because he’s a Victor, what else? And he’s rich, although we aren’t nearly as rich as Snow had everyone believe. You saw how it was yesterday. Even though the Games are over and there’s no more Victors, they still came out of the woodwork to get their celebrity fix. They have stars in their eyes. None of them really see you.”

“Haymitch told Peeta something like that when he tried to talk him out of the engagement. Peeta bit his head off.”

“Yeah, Haymitch told me. It must have struck a nerve.” 

I recall that night. It was one of our Victor’s dinners. Haymitch seemed particularly keen to make Peeta realise how little thought he had put into engaging himself to Lace. Peeta’s rationale was that happiness should be grabbed at before it disappears. But it’s a strange sentiment to go into marriage with. Surely one should only marry if one is certain that it won’t disappear. 

“Lace certainly liked the parties and social opportunities that came with being a Victor’s girlfriend,” I say. “And she may have got an impression that Victors are richer than we actually are. Peeta spent money like it was water on that wedding. But I suppose it’s not a bad thing to like those things. Many people would. She may still have loved him.”

“Are you joking?” Johanna asks incredulously. “You can’t tell me that without them, Peeta would’ve got more than fake smiles and that appalling laugh of hers. Oh, and a knife in the back if it helped her get what she wants.”

“Most people find Lace’s laugh attractive.” I’m not one of them but if playing devil’s advocate gets Johanna to give up the dirt, why not? Although I don’t think she needs much encouragement. 

“She sounds like a hyena high on morphling. And who does she take up with when she’s finished with Peeta? Someone who’ll help her get what she wants, of course. She’s a conniving little social climber, that’s what she is.”

I have to admit, it certainly seems that way. And Peeta did say that he thought Lace simply said what he wanted to hear when they made their life plans. Not that Peeta wasn’t guilty of the same thing. That night of the Victor’s dinner, Peeta told us he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a baker, but then he tells Lace that he intends to open a bakery. Was there anything real or honest about that relationship? Peeta, at least, had the excuse of a confused mind. But Lace didn’t. 

“Lace came to see me, soon after she and Peeta separated. To tell me I should I get back with him.” 

I wait for Johanna’s reaction. I’m not disappointed.

“What? Fuck! As if you need her permission. What did you tell her?”

What I had told her was that Peeta wasn’t my responsibility anymore, but I don’t think that will go down well with Johanna. I also feel bad about it now so I settle for a modified version. 

“I told her what I thought of her – that she’s manipulative and not nearly as nice as people think she is, but I didn’t commit to anything about Peeta. I didn’t think it was her business. We also argued about who was most to blame. She seems to think it was Peeta and me.”

Johanna snorts. “Typical. People like her are always the victim.” 

I nod but say nothing. There’s a lot to what Johanna says but I prefer to believe that Lace really did care for Peeta, on some level at least. After all, she cared enough to come to me, someone she doesn’t like, to urge me to reach out to him. That wouldn’t have been an easy thing to do. People aren’t black or white, and that goes for their motives too. It’s tempting to go for the simplistic approach and paint Lace as the villain, but that’s to distort the truth and hasn’t there been enough of that already? 

Suddenly Johanna starts to laugh. “Did you see that article in today’s paper about you and Peeta? They called Lace “Lace Bum Hole,” she says, referencing the unfortunate misspelling of Lace’s name. 

“She won’t be Lace Bomull for much longer. She’ll have announced her engagement to the tailor by now. Soon she’ll be Lace Bobbin.” That sets Johanna laughing even harder. 

Eventually, the laughter subsides and we lapse into companionable silence and simply enjoy the sun and the sounds of the ocean. My attention is drawn to the children who were playing on the beach earlier. They have joined their parents who are occupied packing up the remains of their picnic. They’re a young couple, perhaps in their mid- twenties, who have managed to survive the reapings and the war and now enjoy happier times. Hopefully their children will never know anything else.

“Are you sometimes afraid that this could all disappear and that everything we’ve gained could be taken from us?” I ask. 

“All the time. But it’s far better than having nothing to lose in the first place.”


	12. Chapter 12

I arrive back at my mother’s house around 5 pm. After seeing off Johanna and Gale at the train station, I spent a good hour at the market buying meat and vegetables for dinner. I don’t see Peeta immediately. My aim is to get the ice-cream I bought as a surprise for him into the freezer as soon as possible. It’s started to melt. 

“Hi, how did your lunch go? Get in lots of girl talk?” asks a disembodied voice. It appears to be coming from behind a large canvass that rests across a chair. 

“Johanna and I don’t do girl talk, I’ll have you know. But we did talk.” 

I walk over to his side to get a look at the painting. I expect to see a seascape or a sunrise. But this is entirely different. It’s a portrait of Prim. 

“Oh, Peeta,” I breathe. It’s all I can get out. He’s painted Prim as she was when I last saw her. She wears the white uniform of a District 13 medic, her blonde hair in a single plait down her back. A serene smile illuminates her features. It should upset me. This subtle reminder of how Prim died. But it doesn’t. She was going to the aid of injured children - what she was born to do. 

“I wanted to have it finished before the opening yesterday, but no such luck. It’s been hard finding the time to work on it without giving the surprise away. And it still needs to be framed. What do you think?”

I take Peeta’s hand in mine. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” I reach up to kiss his cheek and he turns his face to meet my lips with his.

“What’s this?” my mother asks, as she enters the room. Her hair is tousled from her afternoon nap. She has an evening shift later. Peeta and I spring apart.

“Peeta has done this wonderful portrait of Prim. For the hospital,” I explain. 

My mother comes to stand beside us. There’s an intake of breath and she reaches out with gentle fingers to stroke the painting as her eyes fill with tears. “It’s beautiful, Peeta. Truly beautiful. Prim would be so proud. You must have spent all your free time on this.” 

My mother hugs Peeta to her and he returns the hug, gently patting her back. 

“I know the perfect spot for it,” she says, as she pulls away. “At the front of the main building, in the hall that leads to the pediatric wing. Thank you so much, Peeta.”

She wipes away a tear, and then Nurse Everdeen is back in charge. “Did you pick up the steak for dinner, Katniss? I think we’ll have dinner early, what do you say?”

“It’s in the fridge.” I tell her. 

I exchange a smile with Peeta. Johanna and I spent the afternoon asking why Lace had been attracted to him. But Peeta never lost this – his thoughtfulness, his innate desire to make others happy. She couldn’t help it. And neither can I. 

\----------------------------------------

I hand the menu back to the waiter, still unsure of my order. There were so many delicious dishes to choose from that I almost wish we were at one of the Capitol feasts where I could try them all. 

Peeta sits opposite me, looking a little nervous. I’m nervous too, although I don’t know why. It’s not like this is a proper date. My mother was supposed to come, that’s how it far it is from being one. But she had to fill in for a co-worker who’s taken ill and she couldn’t make it. Before she left, she insisted on putting my hair up in one of the elaborate braids she does so well. 

To steady my nerves, I take a sip of white wine from my glass and make a show of taking in the surroundings. It’s the newest restaurant in 4, and already renowned for its seafood. The balmy air carries the scent of jasmine as it wafts through large open windows. Light from the full moon glimmers across the surface of the ocean and illuminates the fishing boats moored at the jetty. It’s the perfect setting for a romantic date, if it were one that is. 

Peeta clears his throat to get my attention. “It’s a shame your mother had to work. I can’t say I’m sorry to have you all to myself though.”

“As if you’re not thoroughly sick of me by now,” I say, with a self-depreciating laugh. “Yeah, it is a shame my mother couldn’t come. She was looking forward to it.” Although when I think of it, my mother actually didn’t seem that disappointed, even though this dinner was her idea. 

An uncomfortable silence descends which is odd. Peeta seems downcast as if I’ve said the wrong thing. 

“I suppose you have a lot of restaurants to compare with tonight’s meal. You and Lace ate out a lot, didn’t you?” I say, in a desperate attempt to make conversation

“Um, yes we did go to restaurants quite frequently. Nothing as nice as this though. 12 has a quite a bit of catching up to do when it comes to fine dining.” 

More awkward silence. Eventually Peeta breaks it. “You and Marius dined out a lot too, I believe.”

“Yeah, we did. Most weekends, actually. And then sometimes onto a pub for karaoke after.”

“Does he still write to you?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“What Johanna said about getting . . . um . . . things in the mail.”

“It was only that one time. We’re not in communication anymore.”

Peeta says nothing but appears to brighten a little. Gosh, this is so damn awkward. I realise now that it was stupid of me to think that Peeta and I could ever be just friends. We were never meant to be that, and I don’t think Peeta ever truly believed that either, even when he was courting Lace. I suspect that that was behind the night-time ban. But I’m scared. Scared of mistaking gallantry for genuine interest. Scared of being vulnerable again. Scared of putting my trust in him. 

Thankfully, the first course arrives and we have that to talk about. I tell him what I was thinking earlier about trying everything on the menu as if we were at a Capitol feast. Peeta has sketchy memories of it, so I spend a good deal of time filling in the blanks and then we go on to talk about Capitol food and the parties we attended, which then leads to our dislike of parties in general. By the time we’ve eaten dessert and we’re ready to leave, the conversation has been pleasant but mostly impersonal. What I’m comfortable with, in other words. 

After dinner, Peeta suggests we walk back along the beach rather than take the road. The full moon gives just enough visibility to be able to navigate the beach safely. The ocean is almost as black as the sky, except for the silvery path that shimmers over the water, and delineates the waves gently lapping to shore. The day had been hot, but now the breeze has freshened, ruffling the loose hairs my mother had artfully arranged around my face. I take off my high heels and wriggle my toes in the cool sand. 

Peeta reaches out and takes my hand in his. Several times I get the feeling that Peeta wants to say something, because his hand tightens around mine, and when I glance up at him, it appears as if he’s trying to gather courage, before he lapses back into himself again. 

It's not a long walk to my mother’s house; about ten minutes, but it seems longer. My nerves are on edge, and if I were to take a guess, Peeta’s are too. His hand is clammy, a sure sign that he’s nervous. I wouldn’t be surprised if mine is too.

Peeta’s room in on the lower floor of the house, in what appears once to have been an open space beneath the veranda on the floor above, that has since been enclosed to make another room. Mine is on the top floor and has a different entrance. It’s in the garden, at Peeta’s door that we take our leave of each other. 

I go to remove my hand from his, but he retains his hold on it. “Katniss, there’s something I want to – “

“Peeta, I’m sorry I just have to go. I . . . I need to get to the bathroom fast. Too much to drink, I guess. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, I pull my hand free and make a mad dash up the side of the house, towards the upstairs entrance. Once out of sight, I slow to a stop and groan. Of all the stupid, obvious excuses to make, I have to pick that one. I panicked, when all is said and done. And Peeta probably feels like a fool, and he won’t attempt that again. Stupid! Stupid! But isn’t that what I want? 

I rifle through my purse to find the key, but when I turn it in the lock to open the door, I realise it wasn’t locked after all. Once inside, I can see by a dim light in the kitchen, my mother seated on the adjoining veranda, a mug in her hands. I thought she was supposed to be working. It must have been a short shift, if she had been. I hope she didn’t overhear that exchange between Peeta and me. I hurriedly make for my bedroom, without announcing my arrival first. Whatever my mother has to say, I don’t want to hear it. 

*****  
The next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, I wake to the sounds of conversation, chairs scraping, and dishes being washed. I know I’m supposed to get up now but I find myself with no desire to move. What’s the point? You only find yourself back in bed at the end of the day anyway. 

There’s a knock. “Katniss, are you getting up? Or are you going to lie in bed all day?” yells my mother through the door. 

“I’m going to lie in bed all day,” I croak back.

I hear the door open. And then I hear the door close. Next, there’s muffled voices, more banging and clanking, and then the front door slams shut. Good. Peace at last. 

I watch a fly buzz against the window. Why does it bother? Doesn’t it know how futile it is? Even if it did get out there’s probably a spider waiting for it. Or a frog. We’re all marked for death, sooner or later.

I doze a little, and then rouse when I hear the door creak open. I feel the bedclothes lifted, the mattress dipping, and then Peeta’s body warm against my back, his arm around me.

“You should call Dr Aurelius,” he says in my ear. 

“There’s no need. It will pass soon. It always does,” I say. And then I start to cry. “I’m such a terrible person.” 

“No, you’re not. Far from it. That’s just the depression talking.”

“No. It’s true. I should’ve helped you when you were in 13 instead of staying away like I did.”

“Katniss, I tried to kill you. And if I had known you were hanging around my door, I would’ve thought you were waiting for the opportunity to kill me. Thank you for staying away. You couldn’t help until I was ready for you to help me.” 

I guess that’s true. But the thought I’ve failed Peeta persists. “I could have helped you more when you came back to 12, though. I should have done a better job of showing you how much I love you and then you might not have – “

“Stop. I understand why you couldn’t. And it’s not like I was prepared to risk rejection or the loss of our friendship by speaking up about my feelings for you either. I had a talk with Haymitch before we came here. You know what he told me?”

I shake my head.

“How you stood aside to let me experience what you thought I needed to, even though it came at your expense. All the while supporting me, being happy for me, no matter how much it hurt. I don’t think I could have done it.”

“It was a stupid strategy,” I sniff. “Look how it turned out. And then I ruined what should have been a happy time for you. Perhaps I even ruined your marriage.”

“You didn’t ruin it. I ruined it. And Lace did too. Neither of us really knew who the other was when we married. But by the time I found out, I didn’t care. All I cared about was that I’d ruined my chances with you.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you have a tissue? I need to blow my nose.”

Peeta twists around to reach my nightstand. He pulls some tissues out of the box and hands them to me. “What is it with you and a runny nose?” 

Despite my low spirits, I can’t help but laugh. I blow my nose noisily and toss the used tissues to the floor. My mind goes to the moss Mags handed me as a handkerchief substitute in the Quell. My nose was running like crazy. 

“When you struck the force field,” I say.

“It was almost worth it when I saw how upset you were over it. It made my task of persuading you that you should be the one to live more daunting, though.”

“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?” 

“We have.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you when your memories came back,” I say, remembering Lace’s accusation that I had abandoned him just because he had chosen to marry another.

“You had to take care of yourself. It wasn’t fair that you’d have to suffer because of a bad decision I made.” 

“Peeta,” I begin. I want to tell him what I had spent half the night tossing and turning about. A decision I had made. “Last night, I got to thinking of the memory book. How we only included the details that would be a crime to forget. I was wondering if we could do the same for us. To stop dwelling on all the things we did or didn’t do. Move forward, only taking with us the good things.”

There’s a brief silence. I hope Peeta isn’t about to say that I’m the only one who’s been doing any dwelling.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Peeta’s arms tighten around me and I feel his lips against my hair.

We lie quietly for a little while. I snuggle against him, luxuriating in his warmth. His hand brushes the loose strands of hair off my forehead. Eventually Peeta asks, “Do you feel ready to get up now?”

“Soon. Just hold me a bit longer.”

“As long as you want.”  
\-----------------------------------------------

I slow my pace to match Peeta’s. He’s not used to walking on soft sand with his prosthetic leg. Soon we’re on the firmer stuff close to the shore, and our stride is back in unison. There’s not much further to walk, just around the next point of land. 

“Here it is,” I announce when we get there. “This is my favourite place to swim. Hardly anyone comes here. Usually I have it all to myself.” 

I’ve been wanting to bring Peeta here since we arrived in 4, but somehow between his painting schedule and my habit of taking my swim early in the day, we hadn’t got around to it. 

I throw my bag down on the sand, in a shady spot close to the base of the cliff. Peeta’s bag follows. 

“It’s beautiful here. I can see why you like it, “he says, as he peers out to sea, his hands protecting his eyes from the harsh glare. 

“Come on, let’s go for a swim. It’s almost perfect conditions for beginners. And the salt water will help you float.” 

I shrug out of my clothing as I speak. The locals rarely bother with swimsuits, but I wear one today. Peeta is used to swimming pools with patrons who aren’t naked. I also feel a little inhibited too because it’s, well, Peeta. The swimsuit doesn’t cover much, but it’s something.

“Almost perfect?” says Peeta sceptically. Despite his misgivings, he sheds his clothing down to a pair of baggy blue trunks. He has such a beautiful body. Strong and powerful, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. A light dusting of pale blond hair on his chest. He looks over suddenly and I hurriedly shift my gaze onto the water, embarrassed that I was almost caught staring. 

“You’ll be fine. Just don’t turn your back on the sea. That way you won’t get a wave taking you by surprise,” I tell him. 

“Yeah, I remember. The Quell.” 

I had forgotten about the sea water surrounding the cornucopia. It doesn’t trigger any fears for me, but everyone is different. I search his face for any sign of anxiety or panic, but I see only the slight trepidation that comes from trying something new. 

“Do you remember much about the Quell?” I ask casually. Please, please remember the kisses on the beach. I immediately berate myself for wanting it so much, but I can’t help it. 

“I think I do. It’s hard to tell. I remember ferocious monkeys and a mist that burnt like acid. Beetee and a coil of wire. Johanna killing Cashmere with her axe. Things like that.”

“Oh.” I try hard to cover my disappointment. We’re at the water’s edge and I dip a toe in. It’s cold. I rush forward and dive when it’s deep enough. The shore slopes rapidly and it’s not far to walk out to deeper waters. Peeta is still standing in the shallows. 

“Come further in. The water is warmer here.” 

To my surprise, Peeta obeys. He stops when it’s waist height. “It’s freezing, Katniss.”

“Yes, I know,” I say, grinning at him. “But it got you in the water. You’ll soon get used to it.” I swim over to him. 

“Do you remember our swimming lesson?” I ask. 

“I do. But I think I need you to show me again.”

“Didn’t you have swimming lessons at the pool?”

“That was pool swimming. This is sea swimming.”

“Oh yes, of course. This is much different,” I joke. “But if I had really been teaching you how to swim I would have shown you how to float on your back first.” 

“Show me now,” he says, smiling down at me.

“Well, OK.” Peeta should have learned how to float when he was having lessons at the pool but I’ll humour him. “You’ll need to lie back, and just relax. I’ll support you from underneath.” 

I get him to lean back into the water and tell him to keep his chin up so that his ears are submerged. I place one arm under his shoulders and the other under his lower back. Our size difference means I lack the reach to put any distance between him and myself, and my body makes contact with his, my breasts on a level with his chest. I can’t help my eyes travelling to his swimming trunks and wondering what’s underneath. The wet fabric has sort of moulded to his body and . . . Katniss, concentrate, I scold myself, abashed at my thoughts. I’m glad Peeta has his head back and can’t see my face. 

I get back to the task at hand and tell him to arch his back slightly and let his arms float in whatever position feels comfortable, as long as his palms are upright. I remove my arms. 

“You’re doing it!” I exclaim jubilantly, just as a large wave surges forward that tips him out of position and tumbles him into shore. I rush over to him and grab his arms to pull him upright, but he’s too heavy and I fall forward, landing on top of him. His arms go around me and, with some effort, we clamour to our feet. His hands still rest against my back and now they draw me to him, one arm sliding down to rest across my hips. His skin feels chilled, like mine. My cheek is against his chest and I can see his nipple, hardened with the cold. It occurs to me that with only the slightest movement, I could put out my tongue and lick it. Something hard pressed into my belly answers my earlier thoughts about what Peeta has in his swimming trunks. Suddenly, I’m overcome with panic. This is moving too fast, way too fast. I haven’t decided anything about Peeta yet. I pull away and laugh to relieve the tension. 

“The tide must be coming in,” I say in a shaky voice. 

I have a brief glimpse of Peeta staring after me before I rush back in and swim further out than Peeta will follow. In the comparative safety of deeper waters, I attempt to scrutinise what has just happened. Since being with Marius, my sexual appetite has become honed. It was a reflex action to a stimulus, nothing more.

I swim around for a little while, waiting for my libido to subside. I watch Peeta swim close to the shore. He doesn’t seem to like the unpredictability of the waves. Eventually he tires of it, and takes a towel out his bag to dry himself before laying it on the sand. His sketchbook and pencils come out next and soon he’s at work. A few minutes later, I judge it safe to return to the shore. But instead of reaching for my towel, I decide to sun myself on a large flat rock. I reach back for my braid to run my hands along its length, squeezing water out as I go. 

“You look like a mermaid, perched on the rock like that.”

I see Peeta staring at me before he returns his gaze to his sketchbook. From the way his body is angled towards me, I figure his subject matter is me.

“You’re not drawing me, are you?” I ask, not sure if I like the idea. 

“Yep. It needs a bit of adjustment though.” He puts his book down, and makes his way over to me. My braid is gently prised out my hands. “For the full effect, your hair should be loose.”

He slides off the elastic that holds my braid together and hands it to me. At my back, I feel gentle tugging as my hair is unravelled and then arranged over my back and shoulders. Peeta seems to take an inordinately long time doing it, fussing over the placement and making as much contact with my bare skin as possible. Desire starts to build between my legs again and I press my thighs together. I get the feeling that Peeta knows exactly the effect he’s having. Lastly, he turns my head slightly and tilts my chin. “Now don’t move.”

I wait as patiently as I can but the rock is hard and pressure builds on my hands and backside. By the time I get permission to move from the rock, both are numb and I rub the latter gingerly as feeling returns to it.

“Do you want help with that?” Peeta asks, with a grin. 

“No,” I reply, annoyed at his presumption, but half tempted to take up the offer. I don’t know what’s got into him. He’s usually so . . . gentlemanly. The old Peeta wouldn’t be offering to rub my bottom for me. But then I remember him laid out on a creek bank, almost eager for me to see him naked even though he was half dead, and I realise, well yeah, he possibly would. 

He holds out the sketchbook to me. I expect to see a fishes’ tail, but he’s drawn me as I am. But not as I am too. This girl is slender and graceful, with the supple strength of an athlete. It’s in the slope of the shoulders and in the roundness of the limbs. Her long dark hair ripples down her back and over her shoulders, but not so much that they obscure her breasts which stand proudly in firm peaks. She’s in profile, a small nose, slightly retrousse, and with a determined chin. She gazes steadfastly out to sea, lost in her private thoughts. 

“You’ve drawn me – “ 

“As you are? Yes. I couldn’t do your eyes justice though. Not from that distance. Your eyes are amazing – the dark silver of storm clouds.” 

I swallow, and turn my attention back to the drawing. There’s something missing. 

“Where’s my swimsuit?”

Peeta reddens slightly. “Um, artistic license.”

I hand the sketchbook back to him. “It’s good Peeta, very good.” And it is. But is that truly me, or just how he sees me? My appearance has never been important to me. Not until the day Peeta fell in love with a girl so opposite to me in looks, that I couldn’t fathom how he was ever attracted to me. Short, thin and scarred is how I see myself, but that’s not the girl in the picture. Either I judge myself too harshly, or he too generously. But perhaps it doesn’t matter either way. Just as long as I’m beautiful to him. 

We dig into our bags for our lunch. It’s just sandwiches and fruit, with water to wash it down. For dessert, there’s iced cookies, made by Peeta. He’s kept the Everdeen household well supplied with baked goods. We feast on toasted fruit and nut loaf every morning. 

I admire the delicate frosting work on the cookie. It’s a yellow flower, but what kind I can’t quite make out. A chrysanthemum? A dandelion? 

“Prim and I used to love looking at these in the bakery window.” 

“Yes, I know. I could see you from the other side. I’d hide behind the bakers stand so you wouldn’t catch me looking.”

“What? No, you didn’t!” I say, laughing.

“It’s true. I took what I could get in those days. I had no trouble approaching other girls, but I could never work up the nerve to talk to you. And I wasn’t the only one, you know.”

“Oh, like who else?”

“Alex Cartwright. Cooper Larsson. Half the boys in the class actually. I think Alex tried but he didn’t get anywhere.”

Vaguely I do remember a yellow haired boy offering me a piece of candy. I think I might have told him that I don’t accept charity. I guess I wasn’t the friendliest person in those days.

“I noticed you too. I’d see you in the schoolyard, surrounded by friends. I wanted to thank you for the bread. But I left it too long, and the longer I left it, the harder it was.” 

“I wish you had. Not that I wanted thanks, but to get to talk to you. We’ve missed a lot of time, haven’t we?”

I simply nod. I know Peeta isn’t only referring to our childhood. 

Peeta scoots closer so that he sits diagonally from me. “I don’t want to miss any more,” he says. His hand covers mine and my eyes dart from his face, down to our joined hands, and then to his face again. I stare at him like a scared rabbit, unsure whether to bolt or remain where I am. This is it. It’s about to happen, and I don’t know if I’m ready. My body is though, and my skin tingles in anticipation. Peeta’s eyes search mine, and his other hand cups my cheek. “I remember something else about the Quell.” And then his lips are on mine. 

Softly, like a butterfly’s wing at first and then with increasing pressure. Our tongues touch, withdraw, and then plunge deeper. My arms drift upwards, almost of their own accord, and clasp him around his neck, one hand tangling in his curls. His arms are across my back, pulling me closer. I sigh into his mouth, a delicious warmth spreading from my chest to the very tips of my being. We kiss to make up for all the kisses we’ve missed – slow, sweet, deep, hungry. 

There’s no lightning to stop us now. Or the prying eyes of a television audience. There’s not even us to interrupt us. We’re at the mercy of years of pent up longing that bursts open like a dam wall and is impossible to hold back. 

His fingers fumble at the clasp on my top, before it loosens and together we remove the garment and toss it aside. I pull him down with me onto the warm sand, and he twists his body so that he lies above me, and dips his head to take one nipple in his mouth then the other. 

“Please,” I moan. “I need . . . I need . . .” I’m reduced to gibbering but Peeta seems to guess what I want. 

Peeta laughs deep in his throat and covers my mouth with a kiss, while one hand drags down the bottom of my swimsuit until it’s around my knees. He rises on his haunches to pull it off completely and I lie naked before him. 

“Now you,” I say, as I help pull off his swimming trunks. I reach out my hand and grasp the tantalising hardness, clasping it tight and fondling it like Marius had shown me. 

“Fuck, Katniss,” he gasps. “If you don’t stop, I won’t last.”

I give one last tug and then let go, to reach out and pull him down to me. I run my hands over the smooth curves of his arms, back, and the tops of his buttocks. I love his weight, the salty taste of his skin, the faint scent of cinnamon and dill. His mouth is on mine again, tongues tangling, while his hand snakes down to stroke the slippery cleft between my thighs. I’m a panting mess and moments away from falling apart completely. Suddenly, I’m desperate to have him inside me. “Now,” I plead. I curl my legs around his hips and Peeta hooks an arm beneath one of them so that it rests on his shoulder. Marius and I had sex every which way, but lying here like this, with Peeta and I joined, his eyes locked on mine, it’s the most erotic thing to ever happen to me. 

After, we continue to kiss, slow lazy sensuous kisses. “I love you. So much,” he says, between kisses. 

I don’t even hesitate. Like my mother before me, I will take that leap. Indeed, I’m powerless to do anything else.

“I love you too.”


	13. Chapter 13

We don’t leave the beach until the sun has nearly set. I think we could have stayed there forever, but as dinner time approaches, our grumbling stomachs say otherwise. My mother, to her credit, does nothing more than smile when she catches sight of Peeta’s arm around my shoulders. She even goes so far as to quietly move my belongings into Peeta’s room after a few nights of us sneaking into each other’s rooms. We joke that she doesn’t like having her sleep disturbed, but I think she’s just happy that her remaining daughter has found love, as she had. And it’s such a luxury to sleep in Peeta’s arms again. It’s like coming home, when for the longest time, you didn’t know where home was. 

It hasn’t all been perfect though. As I lay cocooned in Peeta’s arms, unwanted thoughts would drift across my consciousness of another woman he had also held like this. And when I climbed on top of Peeta to move and clench my inside muscles as Marius had taught me, his startled expression told me that similar thoughts bothered him too. Baggage, my mother called it. It’s not offloaded so easily.

Our relationship can never be as it should have been; the way it was supposed to have been. Peeta has spoken words of love to another woman, had been intimate with her, even married her. And I have had other relationships too. I hadn’t been in love, or married, but I had learned that I don’t need Peeta to survive. The old Peeta loved none other than Katniss, and the old Katniss associated Peeta with survival. What are we to each other now? I don’t even know what to call myself. A girlfriend? Or something more than that? There’s so much that’s still unsaid. So much that’s still to be decided. 

It’s a fourteen-hour journey from District 4 to District 12 by train. That leaves a lot of time to stare out of the window and think. It should be so simple. Peeta loves me and I love him. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, but the further we are from 4, and the closer we are to home, the more anxious I get. The holiday is over, and soon we’ll have to face the reality of everyday life. I think of my house in the town. Of the life I’ve built. Of Lace. Of everything that’s happened since Peeta returned to 12. 

I start to feel angry with him. If he hadn’t run from his past and involved himself with Lace, we wouldn’t have to deal with these things. I know I’m being unfair, that this was something he couldn’t help and I’ve played a part in it too, but I’m angry all the same. I begin to realise that there’s no magic moment when past hurts suddenly vanish, and that this will be a long process, no matter how much we love each other. My body must tense, for Peeta’s arm around my shoulders tightens and he turns to peer anxiously into my face to ask if anything’s wrong. I smile to reassure him. Perhaps this train journey reminds him of another. The time when we returned from the Capitol after our first Games. My younger self had been troubled with anxieties too. She couldn’t reconcile the girl who lived in the Seam, who hunted in the woods with Gale, and traded in the Hob with that of a Victor who lived in the Victors Village and was one half of the star-crossed lovers. What’s happening to me now is not unlike how it was then. I’m not sure where I quite fit. 

I press a kiss to Peeta’s neck to show that, unlike that previous journey, there’s no doubts about my feelings for him. With his free hand he reaches out to caress my cheek before dropping it to take my hand in his, entwining his fingers with mine. 

“Katniss?”

“Mmm?”

“Have you thought about what we’ll do when we get back to 12?”

“Um, I guess a little.”

“I was thinking that maybe . . .” Peeta pauses here. He sounds hesitant, as if he’s unsure how welcome his proposal will be. Immediately, all sorts of scenarios go through my mind. Marriage? Move in with him? I don’t think I’m ready for any of that. 

“That maybe, you’d consider moving back into the Village,” Peeta continues. “So we’d live close by and we could see each as often as we wanted.”

I let out my breath, not realising that I had been holding it. Yes, I can do that. His idea is a good one. Moving back into the Village will help restore our relationship without rushing into anything. The Victor’s dinners have practically been reinstated anyway with the work over the memory book. Now it won’t be just up to me to host them. I also remember how confining the town house was last winter. 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I think Buttercup preferred the Village anyway. Didn’t you, Buttercup?” I say, addressing the sulky looking cat held secure in a cat carrier on the seat opposite. Buttercup disdains to open his eyes halfway, seemingly decides that I’m not worth the effort, and then closes them again. Peeta and I laugh. 

The move back into the Village is quick and easy. I decide to leave the town house as it is. There’s sufficient furniture in the Village house without going to the trouble of transporting it. That only left personal items to pack. Maybe I’ll put it on the market later. It has served its purpose. 

Haymitch has little to say about the change of status between Peeta and me other than a terse “it’s about time.” His major concern is with the neighbours. While Peeta and I were away, three new families moved into the Village. And they all hate Haymitch’s geese. The geese wander where they like, and eat what they like. And that includes any new plantings. Apparently one neighbour complained that when he tried to shoo one of the geese out of his garden, he was attacked. Haymitch didn’t improve matters by having a good laugh about it. He’s been asked to at least pen them, but Haymitch insists that his geese were here first, and they have priority. I don’t think this will end well. 

Max has rather more to say when I tell him.

“Why do you want to be involved with that psycho again?” he asks, incredulously. “Hasn’t he caused you enough trouble already? I’d have thought two attempts on your life, at the very least, would make him persona non grata.”

“Well done for using “persona non grata” in a sentence,” I reply caustically. “May I remind you again that Peeta was hijacked when he did that. And don’t call him a psycho. If he’s a psycho, then so am I.” While I’m used to Max’s antipathy towards Peeta, there are times when he can go too far. 

“I already know you’re a psycho. But there’s degrees.” Max says, jokingly. He drops the facetious tone and adds, “I’m just looking out for you. I don’t like seeing a good friend get hurt, that’s all.”

I place a hand on his arm. “I know. And thanks, but I’ll be OK,” I assure him, ignoring the small kernel of doubt that I haven’t quite been able to shed.

Despite the new neighbours, who keep to themselves, life in the Village is back to normal. We still have dinners, but it’s more like family who eat together than the routine recommended by Dr Aurelius. Peeta and I share a bed every night but it’s always at my house. Peeta caught on very quickly that I was reluctant to spend the night at his. I think he figured out why. The association with Lace is too strong for me to be comfortable in it. After a few weeks of coming over in the evenings, and going home in the mornings, he simply moved in. He still bakes at his house, and he paints there, but for everything else, we’re essentially living together. 

I had sent the completed memory book to the Capitol for binding just before we left for 4. It was waiting for us when we returned; a handsome volume in deep brown embossed leather. The three of us had a special dinner to commemorate our fallen, and then sealed the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. We keep busy. Peeta paints, and I spend my days at the school or in the woods, hunting. Haymitch drinks, tends his geese and argues with the neighbours. He also manages to slip in some work at the town council. 

The remaining houses in the Village are soon sold and more neighbours move in. They add their voices in complaint about the geese. Haymitch refuses to compromise. Peeta and I keep out of it. When the neighbours ask us to sign a petition, we sympathise but point out that we’re friends with the crazy old man with the geese and would rather not. However, the geese’s days prove to be numbered when the neighbours produce a statute that prohibits the keeping of livestock in the Village. Haymitch makes a lot of noise, but he has no choice but to get rid of his geese. 

Peeta still loves ice-cream and sometimes I pick up a tub of his second favourite flavour, raspberry ripple, on the way home from the school. Soft serve doesn’t transport well, I’ve discovered. It’s just past the Justice Building, and only twenty meters from the ice-cream parlour that I see them. Peeta and Lace in animated conversation. I duck behind a garbage bin to watch them. All I need is my chair, and I’d be back to my spying days. I tell myself there’s no need to be jealous. It’s good that they’re on friendly terms. It means there’s no hurt feelings between them, and that they’re happy with how things turned out. But I’m also reminded of how much they enjoyed each other’s company and all the things they liked to do together. I can’t stand the swimming pool, and Peeta is hopeless on a hunt. I’m not much for hanging out at the ice-cream parlour either, and it was a favourite haunt of theirs. 

I forget about the raspberry ripple ice-cream. Peeta’s already had ice-cream today anyway. My walk home is consumed with how much Peeta and I don’t have in common, and how few interests we share. How can we build a relationship if we don’t have common ground? How long before Peeta falls in love with another doe-eyed girl who likes ice-cream, swimming pools and jigsaw puzzles?

It takes a bit of searching, but eventually I find the box of board games that came with the house. It’s barely been touched. Prim was the only one who showed some interest in it. There’s three zigsaw puzzles in the box. 500 pieces, 1000 pieces and 1500 pieces. Might as well start big. I choose the 1500.

I have an edge started by the time Peeta comes home. It is the most boring, tedious excuse for a game I’ve ever encountered. I’d rather gut a roomful of squirrels than do this. 

I wait for Peeta to come into the room before I look up to greet him. I want to give the impression that I’m so engrossed in putting this ridiculous thing together, that I didn’t realise he was home until he was in plain sight.

Peeta sits beside me on the couch and starts sorting through the pieces. 

“I didn’t know you liked jigsaw puzzles,” he says. 

“Oh, yes. I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m practically an addict.”

“Really? I’d never have picked you as a zigsaw puzzle enthusiast. Lace liked them. For about five minutes, anyway.”

“But you like them, don’t you?”

“Not really, but if you do, I’ll do one with you. I just enjoy us spending time together.”

I retrieve the box from the floor and proceed to sweep the pieces into it. 

“What are doing? Why are you packing it up already?” asks Peeta, in puzzlement. 

I cram the lid on the box and toss it onto the coffee table in disgust. “Because I hate zigsaw puzzles, that’s why. Horrible boring things. I only said I liked them because I thought you did.” 

“Why would you do that?”

“Well, because . . .” I flounder, feeling foolish now. “We don’t seem to have a lot in common, do we? I’m just worried you’ll get bored with me eventually.”

“And leave you for another woman?” says Peeta, teasingly. I scowl at him. I don’t like being mocked. Even worse, is that he assumes that abandoning me for another woman is exactly what would happen. In a sudden moment of clarity, I realise what that nugget of lingering doubt that’s haunted me is about. I fear that one day he’ll leave me. Again.

Peeta takes one of my hands in both of his and gives it a tug to get my attention. “Katniss, look at me. This is about Lace, isn’t it? I thought I saw you near the Justice Building. We were just talking, you know. And we didn’t meet up. We just happened to be buying an ice-cream at the same time.” 

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” I say irritably. “But sometimes I wonder why you’re with me, when you obviously enjoy her company so much.” I hate the way I sound; jealous and insecure. How can something so innocuous as seeing them at the ice-cream parlour have this effect on me? I barely ask the question when I have the answer. It’s where I first saw them together, as boyfriend and girlfriend. Lace, kissing ice-cream off his face. And me, forced to act as if I was fine with it – something I’d have to do for two more agonising years. 

“Well, yeah, of course I enjoy Lace’s company. As I do with all my friends. That doesn’t mean I want to be with her. Or that what we have in common are the important things, the things you look for and need in a life partner. Even if I hadn’t been hopelessly in love with you, the marriage still wouldn’t have lasted. We were bored with each other. You can only spend so much time eating ice-cream and going to the pool.” Peeta waves a dismissive hand at the zigsaw puzzle box. “And the interest in jigsaw puzzles didn’t even last long enough to finish the puzzle. I’d much rather play chess.”

Mollified, I give him a small smile. “I’ve learned how to play chess.” The nude variety, actually. Perhaps I can introduce Peeta to it sometime soon. 

Peeta leans back into the couch and pulls me against his chest. “Well, there you go” he says, into my hair. “Something we have in common. Perhaps we can go to karaoke bars together.” 

“No, no. There’s no need, for that. I’m not interested in karaoke anymore,” I quickly say. My days of being the face of the rebellion may be over, but there’s one small, but vital, service I can still perform. And that’s to protect the public from Peeta’s singing. It was something I did with Marius anyway. Certain activities go with certain people. Just like hunting went with Gale. 

“You’re not the only one who feels insecure, you know,” Peeta says, after a short silence. “When I heard you’d slept with Gale, it was like I was sixteen again. Actually, it was far worse. At least then I thought I had some hope. The second time around, I had none at all. I thought I’d ruined everything.”

“You hadn’t. Not really. I kept telling myself we were over. But you and me, we never will be. Not ever.” I shake my head against his chest to emphasise my point and realise with a start that it’s true. We’re stuck to each other like limpets to a rock. 

I entwine my fingers with his. “Gale isn’t a threat. He never was. You were right about one thing though, I did sleep with him to get back at you. It wasn’t fair to Gale, but it did have one benefit. It showed me that it was never going to be Gale. It was always you.”

I nuzzle his neck, pressing soft, open kisses to his skin until he pulls down on my braid to raise my lips to his, and we spend the following minutes in delicious silence.

Eventually Peeta pulls away. “Now what should I do to punish you?” he asks, in a stern voice.

I stare at him uncomprehendingly. “Punish me for what?”

“For being jealous when you have no reason to be. For lying about liking jigsaw puzzles. For being near the ice-cream parlour and not bringing home a tub of ice-cream. Do I really need to go on?”

“No, I guess not,” I reply, as a frisson of excitement runs through me. Peeta has discovered my penchant for the slightly kinky. It soon became apparent that despite the comparatively short time I was with Marius, that my sexual repertoire was much larger than Peeta’s. His and Lace’s sex life appears to have been very basic. Peeta was disconcerted by the difference at first but has since been determined to not only match it, but to surpass. Who says jealousy can’t be a good thing? 

“I had thought of putting you across my knee. A thorough spanking is the least of what you deserve. But since this is a first offence, I’m inclined to be lenient. Perhaps I’ll just bend you over the back of the couch and take you from behind. But, then again, a nice rosy glow on your arse will look most attractive when I fuck you.” 

“Whatever you think is appropriate,” I say in mock submissiveness, the juices already flowing. 

Peeta pushes me unceremoniously to lie along the length of the couch and proceeds to pull off my shoes and socks, and then work on the button and zipper on my trousers. 

“Just so that you’ve been warned, I expect my wife to be properly submissive and to do everything I tell her. Otherwise there will be consequences.”

“Oh, we’re to be married, are we?”

“Was there any doubt? You’ve already accepted my proposal. What do you think those two burned loaves of bread were for?” 

“To eat?” I venture, as my trousers and underwear are pulled off in one motion and thrown across the room. 

Peeta raises himself over me, looks at me briefly in the eye and says, “No. It was a marriage proposal.” 

His head bobs down to my crotch and a tongue slides between my nether lips. “This is to eat.”

I spread my legs wider, hooking one leg over the back of the couch to give Peeta better access. Peeta has got so good at this, eons away from the enthusiastic beginner when we first became lovers. He brings me to the brink several times, before his tongue darts away, and then returns to repeat the torture. Suddenly he raises himself up.

“Over the couch now!” he barks. 

I do as he says and get a sharp slap across my behind for my trouble.

“Not that way. From the other side.” 

I clumsily scramble off the couch to make haste to do as he says. It’s all part of the game, as is the incongruity of me, naked from the waist down, while Peeta remains fully clothed. 

I bend over the couch in delicious anticipation of what will happen next. But not far enough for Peeta, who pushes me further over until I’m on tip toes, my rump high in the air. I hear the sounds of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper pulled down, and then his legs are between mine, forcing them further apart. 

And then I feel it. Hard and smooth, entering with excruciating slowness. But then it stops. Desperate for more I attempt to back myself onto him, but his hands on my hips keep me in place. 

“And what have we learned today?” asks Peeta, sternly.

“Not to lie to you,” I pant. 

“What else?”

“Not to be jealous.”

“And?”

“To remember the ice-cream.”

And then he’s fully inside, pumping hard and without mercy. Both hands squeeze my buttocks, a thumb invades my rear end, and I tumble over, and over in great pulsating waves. Peeta follows me soon after and then collapses over me to lay his face against my back. 

We stay like that until he softens and slides out. He then helps me up and turns me around to softly kiss me on the lips.

“I suppose I’d better accept then,” I tell him. 

“You can’t fight destiny. You should know that my now,” says Peeta, and then he kisses me again. 

___________________________________________________________

From their perch in the trees above, the mockingjays chatter and shriek as if they are watching and commenting on our performance. I lie on my side, my cheek pressed against the picnic rug. I moan in rhythm to Peeta’s gentle thrusting. I tell him he doesn’t have to be so careful, that he can move as he’s always done, but he worries, my Peeta. I know from his breathing that he’s close. I squeeze my muscles as tightly as I can until I feel him convulse and then come to rest.

Peeta kisses the back of my neck and then moves away so I can roll onto my back. 

“I hope I didn’t disturb the baby too much,” he says. His fingers slide between the slippery cleft at the top of my thighs to “finish me off” as he calls it. After a minute or two, I have my release too. 

Peeta strokes the short damp curls. “I think I like the hair best.”

“Good. Because I’m not shaving it off again. It itches like crazy growing back.” 

A while ago Peeta and I got to be talking about all the grooming and prepping tributes were subjected to. I told him about the extensive hair removal that female tributes had to endure. Peeta said he already knew. He did see a naked Johanna in an elevator, after all. I then got mad because he shouldn’t have been looking. He said he would much rather have looked at me. And then somehow, I was persuaded to shave off my pubic hair. Or rather, he shaved it off while I tried not to worry about nicks and shaving rash. 

After, he patted me dry, dropped a kiss to my bare mound, and declared it beautiful. When I asked him if he had had his pubic hair removed too, he refused to tell me. He said I had my chance to find out by the riverbank in the first Games and it was too late now. He is really the most maddening man sometimes. 

I roll back over on to my side, to lever myself upright. It’s only a short walk to the shore of the lake and I take a brief dip to clean myself off. I float on my back, the dome of the sky blue above me. I’m conscious that my belly and breasts protrude from the water like a trio of rounded hills. My breasts are swollen with pregnancy. I have begun to think that I really should have appreciated my small breasts when I had them. 

Peeta has a mug of tea waiting when I return. Peeta has put his shirt back on, his fair skin prone to sunburn. I stay naked to enjoy the sun and the gentle breeze against my skin. This is our last time at the lake before we make the final move to 4 and I want to make the most of it. 

“I don’t think I’ll miss 12 very much, but I will miss this place,” I say to Peeta. “It has so many memories of my father.” And Gale, and Bonnie and Twill, and the 13 propo team and every time Peeta and I have made the trek out here. 

“Yeah, I know. But we’ll be happy in 4. And we can always come back to visit,” says Peeta. 

I nod, but I doubt we’ll be doing much of that. There’s not much reason to. Haymitch comes with us to 4 and that leaves only the Matsons that I’m close too. Even then, Moira now lives in another district with her husband, and Milo with his partner in 3. Max is still getting over the shock of learning that Milo is gay. It seems everyone guessed except him. But we’ll write and for perennial bachelor Max, there’s always a bed for him at our house if he decides to visit 4. 

We finish our tea and stretch back down on the rug. Peeta puts his arm out and I rest my head on his chest. His free hand strokes my belly. We’ve decided that I get naming rights if it’s a girl, and he does if it’s a boy. We want to stick to the tradition of giving a plant name to girls from the Seam and a bread name to boys in the Mellark family. It’s one of the few things 12 that we’ll take to 4. 

Not that there’s much of left of the old 12 to take. A few traditions, and that’s about it. After more than ten years of new settlement, the district is unrecognisable from its pre-war days. Industrialisation and urbanisation has left its mark. It now belongs to people like Lace and her husband. They live in a big house in the town and own a clothing factory. I don’t see much of Lace except in passing. She looks happy. And fat. 

Peeta’s hand moves from my stomach to cup my breast, idly stroking the nipple into a hard peak. 

“You’ll turn me on again, if you keep doing that.” 

Peeta laughs. “It doesn’t take much.” It’s true. Pregnancy has actually whetted my appetite for sex, rather than diminished it. 

“When we get home, I want to paint you like this – all curves and peaks. Maybe wet. When you were floating on your back before, your belly reminded me of a glistening olive.”

I start to laugh. “An olive? That’s new. And what will you do with this painting? Not passing it on for Effie to sell in the Capitol, I hope.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he says thoughtfully, as if he’s seriously considering it. “Come to think of it, a nude pregnant portrait of the Mockingjay would bring a good price. Maybe a gallery would be interested in purchasing it.”

“Maybe,” I say liltingly, while my hand drifts southward to gently squeeze his balls in an implied threat. 

“But then maybe I’ll just keep it for us, to hang in a private place somewhere. It will be tasteful, I promise.”

“Good thinking.” I allow my hand to drift upwards. Something is stirring, and hardening.

“You’ll turn me on again, if you keep doing that,” he says, parroting an earlier comment of mine.

“That’s the idea,” I murmur in his ear as I tighten my grip. 

Later, after I’ve climbed off him, we ready ourselves to leave. I take one last look at my lake, committing as much to memory as I can. It’s been a happy place, but I take one with me. And that’s wherever Peeta is.


	14. Chapter 14

Little Holly reappears from her bedroom with her beloved Teddy clasped in her arms. 

“Mama, I want Teddy to go in the timesule.” 

“It’s “time capsule”, sweetie, and if we put Teddy in it, he’ll be there for a very long time. You won’t see him again until you’re a very old lady. You’ll be even older than Uncle Haymitch.” 

Holly turns her dark curly head to examine Haymitch with her penetrating blue eyes. To a four-year-old he must appear to be very old indeed. “I think I’ll keep Teddy with me,” she says, clutching her bear closer. 

“Wise decision,” says Peeta, as he sweeps her up into his arms and holds her to his chest. “Teddy would very lonely all by himself. And thirsty too.” Peeta is alluding to the bottle of whisky that was supposed to go in the time capsule. It was Haymitch’s idea as a gift for the person who opens it. But then Haymitch changed his mind and decided he can’t spare it. We’ve been teasing him about it since. 

“I’ll have you know I’m a fine specimen for my age,” protests Haymitch, ignoring the jibe about the whisky.

“Yeah, well pickled in alcohol,” I smirk. “It’s time for bed now, Holly. We have a big day tomorrow. Nick is already in bed and asleep.” 

A few hours later, my mother and Haymitch decide it’s their bedtime too and set off for their respective homes close by. 

After we’ve tidied up and Peeta has prepared the dough for tomorrow’s bread, we ready ourselves for bed too. In the morning, we’ll be busy preparing food for our guests, both local and from inter-district. They’ll be here for the closing of the time capsule, a collaborative effort that we hope will help future historians piece together a truer account of the rebellion than the Plutarch version that’s currently taught in schools. 

The wind has freshened by mid-afternoon the next day; a gusty cold wind that seems well suited for a burial. And a burial it is. A large hole has been dug into the sandy soil. Soon the time capsule will be lowered into it, and we stand around like mourners at a funeral. 

In the capsule, Peeta places our written accounts of the Games and the war. First mine, and then his. Annie contributes hers. Haymitch also. And then my mother. Johanna and Gale place theirs inside together. Last is the most loaded of them all. In an envelope that Marius asked to be kept sealed, is his knowledge of Plutarch and the machinations that took place in the power struggle following the rebellion. Holly’s contribution is a selection of her drawings. 

The capsule is locked, and the timer is set. We couldn’t reach a consensus whether it should be fifty years or a hundred. We compromised on seventy-five. A sealed letter has been archived with a reputable legal firm in the Capitol to be opened around the same time the timer expires. And if that fails, there’s still Finnick Jnr and Holly who’ll likely remember this day. It’s the best we can do. 

I watch as Gale and Peeta work together to lower the capsule into the ground, fill it in, and then plant a shrub on top of it. They’ll never be good friends, but they get along well enough when they are together. We don’t see Johanna and Gale often, anyway. They live in 2, and have done so ever since Johanna ambushed him when he visited his brother in 7. 

Annie stands a little apart, perhaps thinking of Finnick. Her husband and former therapist, Magnus Clark, has a protective arm around her. Finnick Jnr, who looks more like his father every day, fidgets and seems eager for the ceremony to be done. Possibly he wants to get to the cake and desserts that wait for us at the house. Teenage boys seem to eat a lot. 

My mother has two-year-old Nick by the hand. He’s rubbing at his eyes, a sure sign that he’s ready for his nap. His full name is Pumpernickle. Peeta and I had big arguments over that name. OK, so it had to be a bread name. But why Pumpernickle? A compromise was reached. He’s called Nick. But he's registered at the Justice Building as Pumpernickle. Poor kid. But at least he has his father’s good looks and blond hair as compensation. Except for his eyes, which are grey, like mine. 

Later that evening, when the food has been eaten, the guests gone home, and Holly and Nick have been tucked into bed with a bedtime story, Peeta and I settle on the couch with the memory book. It’s been several years since we’ve opened it. Its purpose was complete when we sealed it with salt water but today seems a good day to revisit it. To remember our lost loved ones. And the children who were sacrificed to the Games. Our promise was to live well to make their deaths count and we’ve done that. I lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder and his arm automatically goes around mine, just as it did when we waited to interviewed by Caesar after our first Games. He’s been my dandelion in the spring. The promise that life can be good again, no matter how bad our losses. 

Peeta presses a kiss onto the top of my head. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” he says.


End file.
